


Arrow

by slyferris (Ethsei)



Series: Arrow [1]
Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, Multi-Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-02-28 21:13:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2747297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethsei/pseuds/slyferris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen year old Changmin is given away by his father to the King Jung to secure their treaty between Central and the South.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to yunho on the throne and humanityscutest and madamteatime for the idea, hearts forever.
> 
> also janie for kicking my ass on the regular.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lots of scene setting and changmin's family are dicks

**Thank you to the amazing[Ruyuha Kyouka](https://twitter.com/Ruyuha_Kyouka)** for this beautiful fanart!

 

 

 

**First of all, warnings:**

Before a chapter if there's something specific to look out for, I'll say so. Um also since I got a few questions the rape warning is just talked about but there are no actual scenes or characters involved in it. If it's mentioned, as I said, I'll say so before the chapter.

 

 

As I was writing this I realized it might get a little confusing so here's just some basic information you can go back on if you get confused.

Updated accordingly.

 

 

**General Information:**

**First 60 days of the year:** Freeze

 **Next 60:** Bloom

 **Next 60:** Sunder

****

**Vocab:**

**Common blood:** Those who cannot transform into wolves, and hold little to no wolf heritage.

 **Dog:** Born a different wolf from the same breed of parents.

 **Dry Blood:** Born of wolf parents without the ability to transform.

 **Fresh Blood:** Born as a wolf with little to no wolf heritage.

 **Mutt:** Mixed breed born of two different wolf breed parents. E.G: the mix of a grey and black wolf.

 **The first son:** Katyar  
 **The second son:** Koe  
 **The third son:** Istla  
 **The fourth son:** Inkya  
 **The fifth son:** Manbal  
 **The sixth son:** Moka

_If the son goes passed the sixth, it starts repeating like Katyar-an, Koe-an, Istla-an, etc.  
In the occasion another generation is born: Katyar-ta, Koe-ta, Istla-ta, etc._

 

 


	2. The Inkya

**_Prologue:_ **

**_  
_**

 

The marsh squishes beneath Changmin’s bare feet, grass sinking and water curling over his toes. He steps with ease and caution, eyes locked on his prey. He twitches to enter his wolf form, but he had promised he was to learn to fight without changing. His clothes are expensive, and if he were to rip his leggings made of leather and woven cotton, so well fit they sit like a second skin, his mother would have his hide. He brushes his golden blonde fringe from his eyes with a scowl. The ends tickle his shoulders and make him itch.

The deer shuffles closer to the edge of Idion’s Marsh, still completely unaware of the boy’s presence. It sniffs at the grass and chews, then licks the water, relaxed under the warm afternoon sun that filters weakly through the high trees that form a roof over their heads.

Changmin unsheathes an arrow from his quiver and holds in a deep breath, hooking it in place on his bow. It’s small in size and black to the bone, a gift from his mother, but ever since Changmin was a small boy she had told him it had the sting of a viper’s tooth and bit like nothing other. He pulls the string back to his nose, breath still held, and stares at the deer. His hands sweat and shake as he watches the deer leisurely lope in its home, ducking between the dark wood trees, eyes wide and forgiving. Changmin lets his breath go and takes in another, ready to shoot.

The deer looks in his direction and a butterfly lands softly on its antler, black and orange wings flapping without a care in the world.

Changmin curses and lowers his bow. The deer jostles at the sound and bounds away, weaving behind in and out of the trees without looking back. Each footstep of the deer reminds Changmin of his failure and hits him like needles in his chest.

His legs ache to run, to escape, but without even the ability to kill a deer he knows there’s little point. Either he would be swallowed by the forest alive, or his father would find him before he could make any decent footwork.

He grabs his family crest pinned above his heart, a jaguar crossed through the neck with an arrow, and crushes it in his fist. He is the son of the Southern Lord, yet he cannot even push an arrow through an animal’s heart.

To be born of the most savage segment of Crytor and not to be able to kill a mere animal, it seems dying would be preferable option than to live as the Southern King’s shame. He rips off his crest and throws it to the water. A flock of black birds scatter as the gold metal flick s through the leaves and drops with a modest splash. Changmin curls his fingers and growls.

He sheathes his bow and extends the quivers strap, pulling off his pants and tying them to the quiver. His feet tremble on the ground and his nails grow, bones snapping and contorting as Changmin winces. He cracks his neck to the sky. His vision blurs and widens, vivid colours of the forest dulling to browns and greys.

He sinks his claws into the ground and howls, uncaring how far the noise will travel. A sleek Grey Wolf slides up to his side and huffs out a breath of air through his nose. He snaps at his bodyguard and breaks into a run, trees whirring passed so fast that they’re nothing more than blurs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The King settles in his encampment, skin itchy and back sweaty. His long nails scratch the hide of his throne as he sits and waits for the newest update.

Though the weather is cold, humidity hangs like mud on skin. Insects hum through the air, some bigger than a woman’s fist, and bites as vicious as a rabid rat.

Despite this, the young King of twenty five remains unruffled. He’s handsome, especially for a king, and muscled though he never takes part in combat. His skin is tanned and tough, glowing amber from the light slipping through the orange canvas walls. His eyes are so dark and sharp they give the greatest of men nightmares for years to come.

A slight man of thirty pushes passed the door of cloth, movement sleek and predatory.

Yunho sits up in his chair and nods as the man drops to his knees before him, giving a bow so low his forehead touches the dirt.

“What news do you bring, Jung Messenger?”

“Your Majesty, the Southern Lord has agreed to your proposal and he’s willing to negotiate a treaty. He asks for two things in return.”

Yunho waves at him to continue.

“First, he wishes for two hundred thousand gold within the month.”

Yunho clucks his tongue and Jung Messenger lowers his head. “And what else?” he asks through clenched teeth.

“He requests we stop fishing along the Southern Great Divide, right up to our lands start, behind our border.”

“He wants us to fish not even in our own waters?”

“That is correct.”

The king rises from his chair and dismisses his messenger with a flick of his wrist. He stands behind his throne and grips the backrest, knuckles white.

“I think you should say yes,” a lulling voice sounds from the tent’s opening.

“Luna.” Yunho raises his gaze and tuts. “You were listening?”

“What’s an advisor without ears, little brother?” She slinks with a practiced grace and takes a seat upon the throne, picking at her fingernails. Her hair is the darkest of blacks to match her eyes, and is cropped just above her shoulders. Unlike the King, she was born with her mother’s round face.

She smiles, lips berry red and thin. “It’s a good deal, Koe. We have the money for it, with the recent trades from the East.”

“Money is not so easily given away, sister,” Yunho snaps, flanking her side and staring her down.

Luna rolls her eyes and leans her head back against the cows hide, stretching her long neck. “And how much more would a war cost? Not only in gold, but in lives. It’s not like you to be so irrational, Koe. The choice should be obvious. We’ve settled our treaty with the North, West, and East, one more and we’re closer to Central’s peace then we have been in centuries.”

Yunho places his hand on his sister’s head, pulling her fringe back. “Of course I know that. But I don’t trust the Southern Lord. When has it ever paid off to put trust in a Southerner? And what of River’s Edge? Should we leave a whole city to starve when they can’t fish in their own waters anymore?”

Luna pushes her brother’s hand away and sniffs, slight eyes narrowing. “They can still fish along the Eastern border. Granted the waters aren’t so fruitful, but what other choice do we have? How many more brothers and sisters can we see assassinated—how many more camps will be raided before we make a decision? We’ve lost too many, and a full scale war will cost us greatly. Think about it, Koe.”

Yunho growls deep in his throat and scratches a hole in the hide of the chair as he runs his nails over it. “I don’t feel right about making a deal with _him._ ”

Luna stands from the throne and wraps her slim fingers around Yunho’s neck, looking him straight in the eye. “They took our baby sister from us while she slept. I’m just as furious as you are, but this can’t be about personal revenge still. We have a country to protect, and you are _not_ your father.” She moves her hands to his cheeks. “You are not your father, because I will not allow you to be.”

The King steps away from his sister grip turns his face away. “You should’ve been born as the King. You were always the more thoughtful one of us.”

She smirks, canines poking through the lips. “Yet I was born to only be advisor as a woman. And speaking of, Jung Messenger has bought a list of suitors for you. It’s high time you bear our family children. You are the only son left. Even a whore’s child would be better than none.”

Yunho takes his seat upon the throne and slouches. “From the North?”

“Two from the East, six from the North. You’ve got a fine pick, brother.”

Yunho laughs and lifts his eyebrows. “And when will you pick yours? Your body’s getting old for childbirth, Luna.”

Luna snaps at him, hackles raised. “Twenty seven is not too old. I’ll tell the messenger your decision, so keep your mouth shut about my choices.” She crouches to the ground and transforms into a sleek black wolf, fur dark as her hair.

She bounds out with a growl, and Yunho’s laugh booms after her. “I will when you stop talking about mine,” he says, knowing she will hear.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Changmin bursts through a clearing that he is all too familiar with, his body guard hot on his heels. The honey trees dip low, leaves dark yellows and jade greens. The bushes sprouting from the ground spring so high they tangle with the leaves, and it forms an impressively thick barrier between the clearing and the outside world. Changmin transforms back to his human self and wades through the grass so long it tickles his thighs. He kneels on a patch of dirt he plucked the grass from years ago, the dirt seeping with water when his knees dig down. He lays down his bow and arrows, staying unclothed.

It reminds him of a miniscule version of Illiyah’s cove, his mother’s hometown, and he wonders if she misses the beauty of the South-East. He visited once as a small child and was there but a week, yet the city burned the back of his eyelids every time he closed his eyes at night and dreamed. The sweet smell of the honey trees reminds him of the scented air, though it is far colder in the capital, Avion. Flowers refuse to grow in the harsh Freezes, and only miles of trees, grass, and swamps surround them.

His guard and educator has transformed back to his thick self, muscles rippling every time he steps. Changmin doesn’t look his direction.

“My prince,” he says, voice thick and low. “The Lord wishes to see you at your earliest convenience.”

Changmin grits his teeth so hard he feels a chip off tooth come loose. “I imagine so. But not yet, I’m not ready.”

His guard lets out a weary sigh, one familiar to Changmin, and steps forward.

“Not a word, Dron. You may operate under my father’s orders, but you are _my_ guard.”

Dron’s the closest thing Changmin considers to be a friend within Avion. Aged on him by twenty season’s passes he may be, but he is the only one who chooses to listen to Changmin’s command when he demands it. Although Northern born, his sharp and delicate features fit in with the people of the South, though it makes for an odd contrast with his ginormous body.

Changmin crawls to the pools edge and stops and his knees brush the edge of the water, already elbows deep in the crystalline water. He dunks his head under once and runs his hands through his hair, clearing away the dirt and twigs. He comes up for air then dives under once again, this time letting out a scream so loud he’s sure it can be heard from the surface where the air bubbles pop.

Dron inches closer when Changmin comes up, but Changmin holds up a delicate hand. “It’s fine.”

“Next time, try to sound more convincing.”

Changmin has to laugh. “I will.”

Dron approaches him anyway, and Changmin allows him to take seat beside him. Dron, not so used to the Forest, grimaces at the sinking of mud and bugs that crawl.

“My prince, this is your fifth failure within two weeks passed.”

Changmin weaves blades of grass into long braids, keeping one ear attentive.

“Your father grows impatient by your lack of progress—he has spoken to me of it. He has become more and more demanding of you as his fourth son to rise to the task. With the two eldest travelling in the North, the Southern Lord wishes only to see the strongest within his castle walls.”

The braid snaps. “What is it that you are trying to say to me, guard?”

Dron stretches his large knuckled hands. “I’m afraid what will happen when the thread of his patience snaps.”

Changmin levels him with a guarded look. He too has pondered this question, more times than he would care to admit. He knows he is here because of blood, not choice, and it’s not unclear how his father feels about his existence.

A yellow butterfly lands on his finger, twitching. Its wing’s give an urgent flutter and it drops its grip, falling dead to the floor. Changmin’s heart hurts. He digs a hole and buries the butterfly in the dirt, placing a tiny stick as a mark stone for the creature. “The air’s getting colder here—the insects can’t handle it.”

Dron sniffs a laugh. “To call this cold is an insult to the North. My skin sticks with sweats even in your _Freezes._ ”

Changmin curls his lip, imagining living with only snow for company all year round. “What’s it like in the North?”

“It’s beautiful. Everywhere you look there are mountains sprawling so high into the sky they hide behind clouds. Even in the cities, there’s a constant feeling of isolation. There’s just… snow upon snow, as far as the eye can see. Even during the summers, depending where you live. I lived to the East in Aislan, and we were lucky to get frozen grass during the summer. It—“ Dron rises with a snap. “Someone approaches.” He draws his dagger from his belt, unable to carry his sword as he followed Changmin to the marsh as a wolf.

Changmin cocks his head and sniffs the air. His expression becomes cloudy. “Dron, it’s—“

“Lay down your weapon, guard,” Aran snaps, holding aside the plants with a longsword. “I should have known to find you here. Father wishes to see you.”

The third son, the Istla, swaggers in with an arrogant confidence so much like his Father it gives Changmin a start. Aran, though only sixteen, is a splitting image of his Father. His hair, so blonde it’s almost white, parts at the middle and curls perfectly just above his chin. His face is long like a horse, and his eyes are beady and manic.

“So I’ve heard.” Changmin pulls his fringe back and smooths his wet hair.

“So, where is it?” Aran cranes his neck and scans the pond side. “Where is the corpse?” Changmin stays silent and Aran’s lips twist, smug. “I thought father’s last threat may have finally kicked in, but it seems you’re just as weak hearted as ever.”

Changmin forces himself to stay calm, knowing that talking back will only get him in more trouble than he already is in. His body screams to yell back, but he controls himself.

“Father might throw you in with the Dogs if you keep this up. Though it won’t exactly be a loss for any of us. Mother might shed a tear but once you were out of sight she’d forget all about you, forget she ever had a fourth son. Maybe you’d like it there, rolling in the Dog’s mud. You were always one to sympathise with the weak. Perhaps I’ll pitch the idea to father?” His lips curl the more he speaks, and Changmin is on fire.

“And I’ll tell him about the time you’ve been spending in the commoner’s quarter, shall I?” Changmin snarks, unable to hold his tongue any further.

Aran turns a deep shade of red right to the roots of his hair, face crumpled and looking close to exploding from the sheer force of his frustration. He stomps right up to Changmin and stares up at him, inches below Changmin’s height. “You might share my blood, but don’t for a second think you’re valued more than me. I could have you locked in the dungeon on my say so, so keep your mouth _shut._ ”

Changmin’s burning from the inside out, but he says nothing, simply staring down at his older brother with as much hatred as he can muster. He’s never had a good relationship with any of his family besides his eldest brother, Koya, but he left two years ago to travel the North and build trade relations—to bear children and carry on their name. Ever since Koya left, the tension between his brothers and he had risen to intolerable heights. Koya kept the peace, a true Katyar at heart, keeping all the children in line.

Changmin is snippy and sharp mouthed, but he’s not stupid—he knows when to pick his battles. He’s treading on thin ice as it is, and he doesn’t want to give reason for it to break. “I’ll see you at dinner, brother,” Changmin dismisses, stepping passed and knocking shoulders with Aran. He stretches his back and flexes, transforming into his wolf. He trots towards the castle, Dron following close behind.

 

 

Changmin enters the castle’s throne room with a grimace. The castle is draped in velvets of green, from light to dark, balanced with whites and rich silvers. The stone flooring is black, and the windows are so high and small they’re impossible to reach, making the castle far gloomier than it has reason to be. The Shim family crest drapes from every surface imaginable, some of the more detailed having red blood spill from the jaguar’s neck. Changmin is sick to see it, always having had an affinity for nature since he was a small boy. He’d bought home bird and animal alike, rejected by the fond but firm denial of his mother. He stopped bringing them when his father crushed a pet mouse he captured near the northern river bank under his boot when he was only eight. He learned fast to leave the creatures where they lived and to observe them from a distance.  

His father sits upon the silver throne, chin raised so high his neck is fully exposed. Changmin’s bare feet are cold on the stone and he shivers, coming to a halt at the base of the stairs. He doesn’t dare climb them. The Lord gazes down at him with cold, hard eyes.

“How do you think of the new decorations, boy, brought all the way from the shores beyond the East?”

Changmin drops to his knee and bows. “It is very fine, Sir.”

“Your mother bought them, of course you’d think as much.” The Lord flicks his finger up. “Stand. I have a council meeting passed two, and you will attend.”

Changmin straightens so fast his back cracks. “I’m sorry? Father—my Lord, but why…?”

The Lord dismisses him with a flick of the hand and Changmin scurries.

 

 

Changmin enters the council chamber with shaking hands. Somehow, and Changmin didn’t quite think it was possible, the chamber seems steelier than the throne room. Everything from top to bottom is lined with silver and black, most unforgiving in the candlelight. A table made from pure silver spans long and thin through the middle of the room, chairs black as night surrounding.

His father sits at the head, Shim messenger on the right, councillor Twain at the left. Changmin recognises a few faces that crowd the rest of the chairs, but couldn’t put a name to a person. The Lord gestures to an empty chair straight across from him at the head. “Sit.”

Changmin does so and collapses into the chair, his legs unable to hold him up. Usually, only the eldest is allowed to sit in council meetings, or perhaps the second or third in extenuating circumstances, but never someone like _Changmin._ Never someone so weak hearted and battle averted.

The Lord rises and everyone rises with him, bowing so deep their heads nearly touch the table. They reseat and The Lord takes a generous gulp of wine, nodding to councillor Twain.

Twain stands and unfurls a roll of yellowed parchment upon the table. “With the unexpected change in temperatures and our crops not growing accordingly, we’ve come to a shortage of food to feed the villagers. Our stocks have depleted by almost a third.” Uneasy muttering floods through the room. “We’ve had to ration the amount given to common folk, but they grow uneasy and hungry. Many are demanding answers, and I’m afraid that if we give none we may have a riot on our hands.”

Changmin is shocked beyond disbelief. He knew the weather was worsening, but not to the point where people in the common quarters were going hungry. Every night he was fed just the same, never told a thing.

A stubby man with big lips and lidded eyes stands, croaking out, “with all due respect, Councillor Twain, we can’t give the common folk what we do not have. Would we choose to feed Common Blood’s, those with the inability to even become a wolf, when the rest of us are struggling to eat?”

Twain strokes his plaited beard and sighs. “That’s not at all what I was inferring. I simply mean to say that we must provide an explanation.” He turns to the Lord and crosses his hands, bowing his head. “I believe a word of explanation directly from The Lord himself would ease their minds.”

The Lord sniffs. “The common quarters are not fit for a King. You provide good insight per usual, and you will organise a messenger to deliver an explanation to the public. Make it sound convincing.”

He bows graciously. “Yes, my lord.”

“And what of _our_ stocks?”

“If we lower the rations to the common quarters and lessen the upper class rations by a tenth, we should live comfortably until Sunder. Beyond that, however…”

The Lord learns forward in his seat and links his fingers, chair groaning at the movement. “I see. Sit, Councillor Twain.” He points to a pinch faced man. “Ration the stocks, including this year and the next. Come Bloom if the crops don’t grow, you will sort accordingly, yes?”

He turns and snaps at Changmin with his fingers. “What do you think, boy?”

Changmin takes a moment to realise he’s being spoken to, startling in his chair. Changmin, in all his fifteen years, has _never_ been asked his opinion, especially something so important that it’s brought up at Council. It’s a great honour for Changmin to even gaze upon this room, let alone speak his mind.

Changmin licks his lips and stands on rickety legs, light headed and awfully lost. He’s not sure what to say—he has his own opinion, then he has the right opinion that he knows his father would like to hear. He’s not sure which to say so he stands with his mouth wide open, words failing to exit.

“I don’t have all day!” The Lord booms, spittle flying from his lips.

Changmin takes a deep breath and calms his heart. He’s been asked here for a reason, and his father knows all too well his inclinations to be soft at heart towards the weak. Yet, knowing that, he invited Changmin to speak. “I think…” his gaze flies across the room and lands on the cup in front of his father. “I think the rations should be distributed equally among the citizens. If not equally, then just enough for the commoners to eat and not feel hungry. A riot would be difficult to handle in itself, especially when we’re in negotiations with Central. I think as a land we should fast together and save as much food as possible, since we’re not sure when the shortage will end.” Changmin bows and grips the edge of the table in an attempt to stay upright.

His father smiles at him and instructs him to sit. Changmin’s heart leaps. His father hasn’t smiled at him quite so kindly in years, and it’s over his _opinion._ Changmin can barely hide his smile and excitement, extremely glad he chose to speak his true feelings rather than just what he knew his father would like to hear. He’s bursting with happiness from his fingers to his toes.

“Shim Messenger, what’s the latest news from King Jung?”

The log of a man grunts. “He’s heard your demand and accepts it with grace, my Lord. The fortunes to be delivered within this seasons end. He also agrees on our fishing turfs, and given ten days we’ll be free to fish the waters as we please. He is displeased with the terms, but finds them necessary.”

The Lord casts a dry look around the room, eyes lingering on Changmin for just a moment. “What of the girl?”

Shim Messenger shakes his head and takes a seat.

Changmin cocks his head, confused. He supposes she is a woman to be wed to one of his brothers—possibly even himself, though he’s received no news of it. Though from the short time spent in the company of the council, Changmin realises how little he truly knows about the happenings of his hometown.

“You can leave now, Changmin,” The Lord instructs with a wave of the hand. Changmin bows and The Lord interrupts him just before he can move to leave. “See me tomorrow morning at dawn in the throne room.”

Changmin walks out with as much grace as he can muster through his excitement. Perhaps his father had realised Changmin would never be a hunter, and instead is teaching him to be a scholar. The thought makes Changmin warm inside; he was always fond of books and learning, and to have the position bestowed upon him by his father is the greatest honour he can think of.

 

 

Breakfast comes slower than Changmin would like. Changmin sits at the dining table beside Aran and Troyan, the fifth son. His smallest brother at twelve, though tiny in stature, makes a racquet wherever he lands. He’s obnoxious and opinionated, and Changmin isn’t sure he likes him all too much. He’d never had the opportunity to spend much time with the youngest, but he grates on every single one of Changmin’s nerves when he speaks, as if the world is under his palm.

Changmin ignores Aran ribbing at his side and wolfs down his food, excitement bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “Chew your food, Changmin,” his mother warns with a fond smile.

Changmin grins back through a hunk of porridge and rice, and The Queen screws up her face.

“Father said he would see me today,” Changmin says.

The Queen cuts a modest bite of chicken and holds it in front of her lips. She’s pretty, looking much like Changmin. Her cheekbones hang high on her round face, and her lips quirk down naturally, though she never looks grumpy—the same cannot be said for Changmin.

“What’s the occasion?”

Changmin drops his spoon to the table. “Father took me to the Council chamber yesterday.”

A hush falls over the table. “Why would Father take _you_ there?” Aran sneers.

Pride swells from his chest and Changmin sits high in his chair. “He asked for my opinion. I spoke in front of all the ministers and advisors and gave my advice.”

Maliah Shim stares at Changmin with wide eyes. “And why would he do that?”

“I think he wants me on the Council.”

Aran and Troyan burst into harsh peals of laughter, doubling over the table. “ _You? You_ in Council?” Aran gasps. “You can’t even shoot a rabbit, how are you to advise a country!”

“Shut up, Aran!”

Maliah rises from her chair and warns in a heavy voice, “that’s enough.” Aran and Troyan hold in their giggles but continue to shoot Changmin teasing looks. “Changmin, son, come with me.”

Maliah steps through the doors, her blindingly white dress sweeping across the floor. Changmin stomps after her, ignoring the taunts he hears from his brothers. They may be laughing now, but they won’t when he’s the one deciding who does and does not get to eat.

His mother is waiting around the corner with a welcoming hand outstretched. Changmin takes it and smiles. Her hand is always warm, no matter what time of year.

“We’ll see your father together, yes? He hasn’t spoken to me of this yet, and I too am curious.” She smiles, full lipped, at him. Changmin was always particularly fond of his mother. She shared the same affinity with nature that he himself did, and always told him it wasn’t a crime to feel compassion, the opposite from what the rest of his family would attempt to drill into his mind.

They enter the throne room and Maliah leaves Changmin’s side to stand by her husband’s throne, hand upon his shoulder. Though barely seven in the morning, The Lord look as composed and cold as ever.

Changmin bows and awaits his Father’s greeting. He holds a golden glass of wine in his palm and his other hand rests upon the cushioned arm of the throne.

He takes a slow sip of wine. “Look at you, soft like a woman, it is not surprising that you act as one. Or should I even compare you as much? Even your sister, Iliyah, can wield a sword with honour.”

“Elian,” Maliah warns, tone firm.

The Lord pays no heed to his lady and spits his words with menace. “You came to the Council meeting yesterday. You gave me your opinion, and I took note as a good Lord would. I trust you at least listened?”

“Of course, my Lord,” Changmin manages, beyond confused.

“Then you’ll know of the treaty between Central and the South being finalized. As it is, I’m treading on thin ice in demanding such a sum and I know The King is displeased with me, as he always is with anyone born from the South. A show of faith is only as good as one’s word, and I thought it might be beneficial to us all if I burdened him with another gift.”

“Elian, what exactly—“

The King holds his hand and barks, “silence!”

Maliah shrinks in on herself and lowers her head, and Changmin wishes nothing more than to rush to her defence. But he can’t, not now, not while his Father watches.

“I thought perhaps a family keepsake would suffice, but The King is greedy as we all know, and something as minimal as silvers and golds could not appease him.” He taps the rim of his goblet, eyes afloat. “I realised something of more important needed to be given away. Yesterday at the Council meeting I came to my final decision—one I have been pondering since the start of these negotiations.”

His father gazes at him now. Changmin waits for him to speak, but he does not continue. “What might that be, my Lord?”

“The King like any other enjoys a good whore. A pretty whore. One with a weak heart who listens to whatever he says. You’ve been my son these fifteen years, Changmin, but today that ends.”

Changmin’s stomach drops. “What do you…?”

“What a fine present, I thought, a Lord’s son as a whore.”

Maliah shocks and jumps in front of The Lord, protecting Changmin from view. “You can’t send my baby away from me!”

The Lord stands and pushes her aside. “You’re just a Bitch, what say have you in my decisions?”

“You can’t,” she pleads, holding his robe. “You can’t take my child from—“

The Lord slaps Maliah across the face and wine spills over his fist, staining it red. Blood bubbles at Maliah’s lip and she holds her cheek with wide eyes.

The Lord approaches Changmin, hot stinky breath fanning even from a distance.

Changmin drops to his knees. “Father, _please_ don’t send me away! I’ve only ever been a good son, a good Inkya.”

“He’s right, Elian! He is the Inkya of the family, your fourth son, you cannot throw him to the pack of Central. He’s just a boy, they will skin him alive!”

“If my son cannot fight, then what is this use of having one? And the Manbal and Moka aren’t so to the King’s taste, born ugly as rats,” his father says over his goblet. He sips it and it stains his teeth cherry red. “You are pretty, but not made for war. You snap like a mongrel but can’t even shoot a rabbit. What is a son without fight, Changmin?”

Changmin lowers his head to the floor. “Useless. Worse than a Mutt and a Dog combined. ”

Lord Shim sucks on his teeth and drains the rest of his wine. “You are lucky to be born pretty as your mother, otherwise I don’t know what would become of you. It _is_ a shame you were not born a lady for marriage, but as a man with no spine. Be grateful I didn’t chop off your head.”    

His father snaps his fingers and three guards built like bricks drag him from the floor and out the room.

The last Changmin hears and sees of his family are his mother’s cries and his father’s back.


	3. The King of Central

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changmin meets the king.

The paths in the jungle are windy and thin. Dead branches hang lazily over the pass, tearing at Changmin’s skin one by one. His wounds heal fast, but it does nothing to help the pain. Snakes slither and hiss in the long grass, and birds chirp and swoop through the mangle of trees.

Changmin’s wrists are bound in silver and it burns right down to the blood and bones. Shim Messenger walks ahead, the leather cuff of the chains clenched in his snout. One day by wolf to the encampment it would take, but on foot it would take almost triple the time. Changmin doesn’t have much to feel lucky for, but his feet ache and he’s in immeasurable pain, so walking instead to the encampment The King has set in the South for negotiations is a blessing that Changmin is more than happy to take.

The walk to the Central castle would be far more arduous a task, and at the moment Changmin isn’t sure he has the strength. His bones feel like they’re breaking from the inside and his heart’s buried so deep in his chest he can’t feel it beat. The idea that his father, the man he’s looked up to his whole life would cast him away, as a whore for The King no less, sears him right to the tips of his toes. He tried—he tried to be that man that his Father wanted. He cursed himself black and blue every time he failed to rise to his Father’s challenges. He hates himself for inheriting the weakness of his mother, and none of the steeliness and competence of his Father.

Shim Messenger yanks on the chains and Changmin yelps, biting his lip to stop the tears from gathering. This skin’s broken and weeping blood, but won’t cry. He’s lived his whole life crying, weak, helpless, and now he sees where it’s gotten him. So he won’t cry. Not again.

The sun starts to hide behind the horizon and Shim Messenger tuts, eyes gazing up. “We’ll settle for the night.”

Shim Messenger drags Changmin to a spindly tree and loops the chain around, locking it so he can’t escape. Changmin wouldn’t have the strength to, in any case; any pressure put on his wrists makes him double over in agony. Changmin settles his back on the tree and Shim Messenger throws a hunk of bread wrapped in wetleaf in Changmin’s lap, along with a flask of water. It’s the first sight of food Changmin’s seen since dawn, and his stomach growls just looking at it.

“Eat.”

Changmin looks to Shim Messenger with narrowed eyes, shoulders hunched. From being treated as a prince by the Messenger, to now a lowly slave, burns something hot in the pit of his stomach.

Shim Messenger scoffs at the defiance. “You wouldn’t last a second in this jungle, so don’t even dream of trying to run, _whore_.”

Changmin drops his eyes and grits his teeth. As much as he loathes to admit it, what Shim Messenger says is true. The Messengers of each household are chosen by their unfailing strength and loyalty. They are trusted with the most sensitive information and negotiations. Bold, wise, cunning, and strong, they are second in command to their master.

Shim Messenger unfurls a ball of cotton from his shoulder and wraps it around himself, settling in. Changmin stares in envy, teeth chattering in the cold of dawning night. He was forced from his hometown with only what was on his back—a simple brown vest jewelled with rubies, and balloon slacks made from thin flax. He’s at least glad he chose to wear his leather lace up ankle boots that morning.

Changmin curls up his knees to his chest and rests his head between his knees, brown bread clutched in hand. He feels everything, yet nothing all at once. He breathes in and out in an attempt to calm himself, but the cool air only stings his lungs. The southern air feels like poison to breathe. His resolve to not cry is already weakening as the world he’s known is crushed beneath his boot.

Just as he’s about to lose control of his emotions, a baby Lerrum pokes its snout inquisitively around Changmin’s leg. Its body is long and thin, paws sharp and tiny, and its fur striped black and brown. It’s just the size of Changmin’s hand, but will grow to the length of his forearm. The Lerrum seems too young to be wandering on its own, and Changmin supposes it might be a runt, abandoned by its parents. Changmin’s stomach pangs in sympathy and he can’t help but reach out to the rodent. The Lerrum, startled, gives a high pitched growl and bounces away on its four paws, back arching with each leap.

Changmin considers the animal then breaks off a pinch of bread, throwing it a few steps in front of the animal. The Lerrum takes a cautious step forward and sniffs, its pink nose twitching from side to side. It jumps forward and snatches the bread into its mouth.

Changmin continues throwing crumbs closer until the Lerrum is right by his feet, looking up at him with starry eyes. It allows Changmin to pet it gently and scratch behind its ear. Changmin shares bite for crumb of his bread until it’s finished. He sucks on the wetleaf, sweet juice bursting on his tongue. The Lerrum circles him, and Changmin reaches to pick it up. It struggles for a moment before going stiff, and he places the animal in his lap. The Lerrum blinks at him with wide eyes and curls into a ball, tail shielding its eyes. Changmin rips a piece of fabric from his pants and covers the rodent, tucking it in. The Lerrum purrs in contentment and drops off into a deep sleep. Changmin rests his head back against the tree and lets his eyes slip closed, revelling in the company of a too trusting rodent.

 

 

Changmin wakes first. The Lerrum still dozes lazily on his lap, and Shim Messenger lets out great, heaving snores. He aches all over. Never once has he been forced to sleep outside a bed or at the very least a tent with a sleeping cushion. He thinks of his future, or what little he has of one, and shudders. Not once in his life had he thought he would be reduced to a lowly slave. He has to run. He _has_ to. Though he may not survive in the wild, to him it’s a preferable option than being traded for his body. He’s afraid of death, but even more so the life he will be forced to live.

Shim Messenger rolls awake as a beam of light hits him in the eye. He gets ready to take off and Changmin attempts to shoo the rodent, but it refuses to leave. It clings to his pant leg, eyes wide and innocent. They start off again on their journey, and Changmin plans. He can’t transform. If he were to try, anything from the wrist bounds and up would be decapitated. He can’t overpower Shim Messenger, but he _can_ outsmart him.

Changmin waits patiently, eyes wide and alert. He waits for any moment that Shim Messenger would trip up, lose his concentration just for a second.

Hours pass before Changmin gets his chance. The leaves above shake and a bird the size of his chest comes barrelling down, wings wide and grey. Its claws curl and it whips passed Shim Messenger, scratching his shoulder. The Lerrum jumps from Changmin’s pants in shock and scuttles away. He loosens his grip on the chain and Changmin yanks his hands back. He screams at the pain. The silver cuts into his wrists and blood runs down his forearms, but he doesn’t have time to notice it. The chain comes free from Shim Messenger's hands and Changmin bolts the opposite way, leaping over roots and tree vines, squinting his eyes as twigs scratch his face.

He can hear Shim Messenger barrelling behind him and his heart speeds up, head pounding from the adrenaline. He scans the area ahead but sees nothing that could aid him in his escape. His hands are tied—literally. Shim Messenger is getting so close he can hear his breaths as he gives chase, and Changmin pushes harder, faster. He’s always been fast and dexterous. But he’s not fast enough. He knows no matter how fast he runs, he knows it’s no use. There’s nothing to aid his escape, and a wolf would always be faster if he chose to transform.

Shim Messenger’s hand buries itself in the back of Changmin’s hair and yanks him backwards, his neck cracking. His feet lose hold of the ground and soon his back smacks onto the floor, head still held up from the tight grip on his hair. Tears gather in his eyes and he can feel his scalp weeping blood. The Messenger moves in front of him and places a hand on his throat, cutting off his air. Changmin gasps and writhes, going red in the face.

Shim Messenger pulls his face close to Changmin’s and snarls, teeth yellow and breath rancid. “Try running again and I’m sure we can find a replacement whore.” He lets go of Changmin’s throat and slaps him around the face, mangled nails cutting into his skin. He grabs the end of the leather handle of the chain and hooks it twice around his wrist. “The Lord's right, nothing but trouble you are.”

Changmin responds by spitting in his face. He gets his head cracked on the root beneath him for his trouble.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

“My King.”

Yunho looks at the entrance of his tent with tired eyes, glad for the interruption. The woman beside him is nothing but a bore. Her hair is red as fire and eyes sharp and knives; she’s intelligent, pretty, well mannered, and everything a King _should_ want. Yunho doesn’t doubt had they met under normal circumstances she would be a fine friend, but having a woman shoved into his face for marriage immediately turns him off her.

“What is it?” He stands, detaching the lady’s grip of his arm and stepping close to Jung Messenger.

“Shim Messenger has come to visit bearing a gift.”

The King straightens and nods, casting a sideways glance to the red headed lady. “Escort her out, please, and bring The Messenger in.” Yunho steps to his throne and takes a seat, fingers laced.

A young boy and Shim Messenger walk in moments later. Shim Messenger leaps to bow on the ground, pushing the boy down by his hair.

“What’s this?” Yunho asks, staring at the young boy whose head is shoved into the dirt.

Shim Messenger rises from the floor and yanks the boy up with him. “From The Southern Lord, a whore for your collection.”

His eyes round like the deer Yunho had shot an arrow through for breakfast. He’s tall yet looks young and soft. Blood stains his arms and clothes. There are scratches on his body from head to toe and Yunho sucks on his tongue.

“Why’s he damaged?”

Shim Messenger grabs the back of Changmin’s neck. “The boy tried to run. He hasn’t quite learned his manners yet, this one, but I’m sure you can remedy that. Here in all his glory as a present of sorts, for your discretion and pleasure. The Lord Shim’s Inkya, the fourth son.” Shim Messenger curls his lips then spits next to Changmin’s feet licking his lips with a lewd grin. “He bites, this one. Better watch it,” he cackles, gesturing to Yunho’s crotch.  

Yunho twitches his finger and rises from his throne made of red velvet and cows hide, lips downturned. Yunho’s great in size and reeks of power. He’s not only tall, but broad and strong faced.

Yunho moves towards the frightened boy, every step deliberate and echoing through the tent. He’s barefoot on the dirt, but each step sounds as if it were made by a boot on marble. He reaches forward and catches Changmin by the chin and throat, sharp fingernails digging into the boy’s skin. He yanks his head from side to side and looks to the messenger.

“He’s the Southern Lord’s son? What of his name and age?”

Yunho drops his hand. His smallest finger leaves a cut on Changmin’s throat.

The messenger tries again to hold the back of Changmin’s neck, and Yunho puts out a hand to stop him. “He’s my property, Shim Messenger.”

Messenger pulls his hand away slow and shows his palms. “Of course, of course. My apologies, sir. Seems like you’ve taken a shine to him already if I may say.”

Yunho lifts his chin. “Answer the question.”

“He’s just turned fifteen, dear Changmin has. Still soft and young, but with the personality of a viper.”

Yunho grabs Changmin’s fringe and digs his fingers into the gold locks, pulling his head back to study his eyes. “And his wolf?”

“A Grey Wolf, sir, like his father. But his furs as blonde as his hair comes. He’s an unusual one, he is.”

Yunho gives Changmin a considering look. “He’s neither a Dog nor a Dry Blood, but they’re giving him away?”

Shim Messenger grins. “A show of faith, as the Lord said.”

The skin of a wolf’s head lays limp behind the King’s neck. Changmin stares and the shaking in his hands becomes more pronounced.

Yunho notices his gaze and inclines his head to the side so Changmin has a better view of the dead wolf.

“He was a wolf from the South in the forest. But relax,” Yunho grins, words slow and heavy. His teeth are straight and white, but his canines and beyond are pointed sharp. “I don’t eat my prey like they do there.”

Changmin shudders under the gaze and turns his face away. The man’s eyes are too sharp and wide to keep contact with.

“Collar him.”

Changmin freezes. He’s seen this happen to the prisoners in his jail. They’re collared with silver wrapped in leather, so if they try to transform and escape, their heads are decapitated.

“Wait, wait, I—“ Changmin’s voice is cut off by a filthy hand slapped over his mouth. Bits of dirt tumble into his mouth and he coughs.

Shim Messenger pulls him close like an old friend. “Told you he was a piece of work.”

Yunho pulls Changmin forward by the collar and the mouth over his hand drops. “As I said, Shim Messenger, it won’t put you in a good light to harass my property.”

“Aw, look at him.” Luna enters through the tent flap, smile stuck seemingly in a permanent smirk. Her accent is heavy, the ends of her words coming slack.

“Luna,” Yunho warns, catching her gaze.

She levels him back and sniffs. “I was just looking. Don’t get yourself in a knot, Koe.”

He stares her down until she looks away, gaze falling to the boy. She stalks in front of him, side to side with her brother. She only stands just below the height of her brother. She tuts and holds his wrists, examining the wounds. “You Southerner’s really know how to take care of each other, don’t you?” She smiles sweetly, but her eyes steeled on Shim Messenger make him falter.

“He’s no longer considered one of our own, my Lady.”

She pulls Changmin closer to her and says very politely, “Trust a Southern Lord to forsake his own.”

Shim Messenger bows and smiles. “Are you in Central any person to judge?”

The King digs his nails into his sister’s shoulder and stares right at The Messenger, expression carefully blank. “Luna, take the child to the sleeping quarters. I’ll show the good Messenger out.” The King casts one glance back at the boy before disappearing through the exit, Shim Messenger in tow.


	4. Therion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changmin ruffles feathers.

Luna takes him to a blacksmith and his cuffs are taken off. He almost sobs in relief when he feels the skin beginning to heal. His relief doesn’t last for long, because as soon as he feels free again a leather circlet in clapped around his neck. In the middle of the leather lays a band of silver to keep him contained. He’s at least happy they didn’t put silver straight to his neck—he had seen many prisoners of his father’s die from the skin around their neck eroding so badly they couldn’t breathe anymore.

He’s given plain beige slacks and a scooped shirt. The material scratches at his skin and makes him itchy.

Luna leads him through an elaborate set of grey-stoned hallways, twisting and curving and turning. They’re windowless and the castle is draped in darkness despite it still being clear day. Changmin already knows he’s going to get lost. He hadn’t expected the encampment to be an abandoned castle, half the people resting inside, and the other half making tents outside. He wonders why the King chooses to spend his time in a tent rather than in the comfort of a castle. He knows it’s out of place, but he asks anyway.

Luna laughs deep and throaty. “’Cause he’s a baby and doesn’t like the dark, would you believe. Our great King, scared of flickering lamps.”

Changmin looks to the candles burning lazily in the windowless hall and wonders how long it would take for a werewolf to burn.

They’re just about to pass into the sleeping quarters when a lanky boy a few years older than he ambles out, scratching his butt under the waist of his trousers. He’s just about to sniff his fingers when he catches sight of Luna and stops short, leaping into a bow.

“Your name?”

The boy looks over his shoulders either side to make sure he’s being spoken to. “Kyuhyun, My Lady.”

She nods to him and holds Changmin by the shoulders, pushing him forward. “Take care of him, will you? He’s new.”

Kyuhyun bows again. “Of course, My Lady.”

Luna gives Changmin a squeeze on the shoulder and swings back down the hall. Kyuhyun watches Luna disappear around the corner then his eyes snap to Changmin. They’re a bit too wide for Changmin to feel comfortable looking back.

“Who the fuck are you _?”_

“Shi—Changmin.” He makes sure to keep his eyes on the older man’s throat.

The man rolls his eyes. “No, I mean who are you to be delivered here personally by _The King’s Sister?_ ”

Changmin grimaces and gives a small shrug. “A gift?”

Kyuhyun stares at him with his dark eyes, just taller than him. Changmin wriggles under the intense gaze and hops from foot to foot, hoping he won’t inquire further. But it seems all of Changmin’s luck had run out by the time he left his home.

“So? Do you fight? What makes you so special that you’re brought here as… a gift?”

Changmin’s cheeks burn flame red and he squeezes his eyes closed so tight stars burst on his eyelids. No matter how many times he hears it from someone else, saying it is a whole new level of difficulty. “I’m here to… _service_ the King’s… needs.”

Kyuhyun’s shoulders drop like he’s now off guard. “Oh, _man._ So you’re just a whore then?” At Changmin’s nod he lets out a burst of laughter and claps him on the shoulder, the hit a bit weak. _“_ Well you coulda said something earlier. I was just about shitting my pants here thinking you were some fancy royal wanker that was entrusted to me. Fuck, well if that ain’t a weight off my shoulders. Changmin, was it?”

Changmin is unexplainably offended by his words, but he chooses to remain polite. “And you’re Kyuhyun?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ and rubs his long fingers together. Changmin stares at Kyuhyun’s hands with poorly concealed disgust. “Well I dunno about you, but I could just about fit a whole pig in my stomach.” He slaps a hand to his well-fed belly and takes off, stride easy and relaxed.

Changmin, unsure if he’s supposed to follow or not, trails after a few steps behind. Kyuhyun glances over his shoulder and laughs. “Stop looking like such a lost pup and get over here. I’m not gonna bite or nothing.” He grins wide and licks the point of his canine.

Changmin really doesn’t find it at all comforting. He drops his gaze and picks up his pace, still half a step behind Kyuhyun.

They enter a dining hall so large that Changmin has to squint to see the other side. The ceiling’s low and claustrophobic, and dining tables and benches line almost every inch of the room sans the modest kitchen. It’s not falling apart, not like the ones the Common Blood’s use back home, but it’s evident that no more than a penny necessary was used to build it.

Kyuhyun leads them to a pile of pots and slops an unidentifiable brown and white substance into his metal bowl until it’s brimming over the edge. He looks excited at the prospect to eat such food, but Changmin can’t stop his stomach from turning at the sight. He’s hungry, terribly so, but he still can’t find it in himself to feel enticed. Changmin dollops a modest amount into his bowl and forces himself not to grimace.

When they’re seated and Changmin’s poking at his food, he understands it to be something of a potato and pepper mix. The taste isn’t as awful as he expected, but the texture makes him gag on the first few mouthfuls.

Kyuhyun pauses in shovelling food into his mouth and points his spoon at Changmin, bits of potato sludge flinging off. “Oh, by the way, if you need to know anything or… whatever, just ask.”

“I do have one question.”

Kyuhyun sighs forlornly into his food. “It was a more a pleasantry you know. But whatever, shoot.”

Changmin drops his spoon and drums his fingers on the wood, worried he’s stepping too far out of line by asking. “The King’s sister called him Koe. What happened to the first son, the Katyar, if the second has become King?”

Kyuhyun looks around and nibbles on his top lip. He leans close and lowers his voice to a whisper. “It’s only a story okay, just a rumour, but it’s said that the first was born a Dry Blood. After he hit the age of a man, he still couldn’t get it up, you know, in wolf form. And it’s said—well it’s just _said,_ that the previous King ordered his death. He died on a trade route from Central through East’s gate to learn trade, one of the safest paths in all Crytor, armed with only two guards. Sparse for a King’s son, no? The news travelled back that he’d been chopped into mincemeat.” Kyuhyun sits back on his chair. “But, rumours will be rumours.”  

Changmin worries his hands. Though frowned upon to be born as a Dry Blood to two wolf parents, it’s condemnable to murder a child for such a trait. Most we’re sold off as slaves, or abandoned, but to have a child _murdered…_ “The current King. He is not as,” Changmin licks his lips and fumbles over the right word, “ _determined_ , is he?”

Kyuhyun tips the rest of his plate into his mouth and cocks his head, taking a swallow so large it looks painful. “Not from what I’ve heard. He seems decent enough. For a King.” Changmin heaves a great sigh of relief. “If you know what’s best for you though, you’ll keep your tramp mouth shut about it, all right?”

Changmin reels back at the sudden insult. “You speak crudely.”

Kyuhyun laughs through a hunk of potato. “From across the sea is why, far over the East, moved over here when I was a little boy. And you talk like a royal wanker.”

Changmin huffs and scoops the last drop of food into his mouth. He thinks he might just hate Kyuhyun.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luna draws back the string of her bow to rest against her cheek. Made from darkwood and plated with gold on the tips, the bow makes a fine sight reflecting the oranges of the sunset. The clearing is empty save for her, the soldiers long done practicing for the day. The trees are sparse and thin limbed, the strong wind barrelling from the North almost enough to snap their limbs.

She steadies her breathing and stares upon a single tree. She hears her brother approach but makes no move to acknowledge him and lets go of the string. The arrow flies and hits the bottom of the painted target and Luna curses.

“Your aim’s off.”

Luna loads another arrow and fires it. This time it misses the mark completely and flies beyond where Luna can see. “Thanks for the advice, genius. My bow arm’s just stiff, I haven’t been out in far too long.”

Yunho trails up next to her and looks down at his sister with soft eyes.

Luna rounds on Yunho and barks, “what?”

Yunho’s expression stays carefully neutral, but he can’t hide the concern shining in his eyes. It has always been his weak point when it comes to being the King. “I’ve never known you to miss a shot, is all.”

Luna pulls the leather quiver from her shoulder and dumps it on the grass, arrows spilling and clattering. “And I’ve never known _you_ to be such a busybody. So, what is it? Why’d you ask me here?”

Yunho picks up the quiver from the floor and runs his fingers through the rough bear’s skin. A shadow covers the left half of his face. “Just… I was reminiscing of our younger days. Remember the four of us children used to sneak to the clearing near our castle after dark and make practice with our bows.” Yunho lets out a low chuckle, “but you and Therion could never concentrate long enough to get any worthwhile practice done. Not that it mattered. You were already the finest shooter of your age. Therion though, not so much.”

Luna stares out at the yellow and orange clouds, lips and eyebrows pinched. “We used to fight with wooden sticks for fun, but the littlest always scolded us. Six years younger and yet...” The image of her little sister is burned so deep into her mind that it comes to her like it was playing right before her eyes. Black haired and big toothed, skin beautiful like warm earth, she had a heart of gold and would never consider hurting even a bug. The injustice of her sister’s death cracks right through her chest still two years later, taken when she was only nineteen.

Yunho smiles fondly. “Violence wasn’t born into Khalea’s blood. She was always soft, always gentle, much like Therion when you weren’t goading him into a fight, actually. I always thought it was your influence that made him so rowdy growing up.”

Luna crosses her arms and looks to the grass below, curling her toes and catching the blades between them. “Why are you doing this, Koe?”

“Because you saw it as well as I did the moment you laid eyes on him. You felt his situation was similar. He’s the same age, too, as when Therion passed.”

Luna closes her eyes and lets out a sharp breath through her nose. Her hands shake in the slightest and her shoulders curl forward like a shell. “And? What of it?”

“To be so kind to just a whore, and none less the Southern Lord’s son, it’s unheard of from you, sister.”

“He’s not his father.”

“And he’s not Therion.”

Luna finally looks her brother in the eye and steps forward until she’s just inches away. The sun has hidden itself behind the horizon and darkness swallows the land. “Stop throwing words and tell me what you want me to hear. I’m all ears, Koe.”

He puts the palm of his hand on the base of Luna’s throat and pushes her back with measured strength. “I’m saying you’re not thinking clearly. He is who he is. May he be like his father or not, it doesn’t change that they share the same blood. Were you thinking clearly, you’d have questioned this, that the Southern Lord chooses now of all times to send his son as a gift, a son with no ills or Dry Blood. And as a whore for the King no less, what better way to get close to him in the middle of negotiations, don’t you think? I doubt he’s been abandoned by his father the same way Therion was, so stop making the connection. It looks ill on you to lose your rationality.”

Luna grits her teeth. “He’s just a boy.”

Yunho gives her a long look. “And you, of _all_ people, are saying that the young can’t be dangerous?”

Luna stays silent, but energy burns bright in her eyes.

“I need you to take a step back from this. I _need_ you to think rationally, god knows who else in this forsaken place I can trust. For now, I’ll keep the boy close and figure out why exactly he’s here. In the best case, maybe I can get him to speak.”

“ _Don’t_ you hurt him.”

“Luna—“

“ It’s just—God, Yunho. _God,_ his eyes are just the same. His face is different, but I can feel the same fire he holds from a forest away. What was I to do when I saw him? You know how far I went to avenge Therion’s death when I—“

“Quiet, Luna. Even the trees have ears.”

She seals her lips and presses the palms of her hands to her eyes, digging at the flesh. “At the very least, keep him safe.” She transforms, her clothes ripped into a pile, and she bolts so fast that Yunho doesn’t even have a chance to respond.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Changmin lays upon a bale of hay that lies hardly an inch above ground. It does nothing to stop the stone floor from digging into his shoulder and hip. He curls into a ball and uses his arm as a makeshift pillow. The room is dark and dreary and smells of old water and wet mould.

Changmin pulls at the leather collar and wishes it would snap right off. It’s not tight, but he still feels like he’s suffocating. He’s never been in a position where he couldn’t just transform as he pleased, and seeing the rest of the soldiers transformed and cuddling the ground with their thick fur makes him jealous right to the ache in his bones. All the soldiers in central are wolves, he had heard from his father. Willing or not, they had to fight by their birthright. Kyuhyun, who is tucked in the corner, lets out a mighty snore that startles him into consciousness. He lifts his head and whines at the interruption, glancing around the room and trying to figure out what it was. Changmin wants to tell him and see him get embarrassed, but instead he stifles his laughter as Kyuhyun whips his snout from side to side, trying to get a whiff on an intruder.

Apparently, he does sense something, since his ears perk up and his nose takes a great sniff. He drops his head to the floor and covers his eyes with his paws. Changmin rolls his eyes and has half a mind to say something when he hears a tinkle of metal and slow, uneven footsteps. He listens until the sound stops by the door, and it creaks open to reveal a grey haired man with a dangerous looking wobble. He stumbles over to Changmin. “The King wishes to see you in his quarters,” he rasps, chin wobbling with every word.

Changmin no longer has an inch of laughter left in him. “Why?”

The old man knocks him on the head with his lantern and tuts at him. “Up! Up before I get a guard to drag you!” The rest of the room’s occupants have now woken, all gazing curiously at the scene unfolding before them.

Changmin peels himself away from the floor with great force, every inch of him feeling sunken to the ground. He knows what this is just as well as everyone else in the room does. He drops his eyes to his feet and refuses to make eye contact with anyone. He doesn’t mind the old man walking so slowly. Though on a usual day it would bother him, today is the farthest from usual that Changmin can imagine.

Far too soon they arrive. A very unnecessary amount of guards circle the opening of the tent where Changmin had first met the King. They only serve to make him more nervous.

The old man leans down and whispers with soft breaths, “For your sake, my child, do not resist.” He hobbles away and tuts, mumbling to himself as he disappears into the cover of night, his lantern bobbing in the dark.

Changmin stares at the entrance of the tent, fists curled so tight his fingernails cut his flesh. He takes a step back. He won’t go. He _won’t._ No matter what punishment awaits it, be it as harsh as death, he won’t become the King’s whore. He takes another step backwards, ready to run, and then the tent flap opens. The King walks out, a head taller than he, broader and bigger in every way, and Changmin freezes. He wants to run as fast as his legs will take him, but his feet feel rooted to the floor like they’re caught upon vines. The King steps up to him and grabs him by the collar of his shirt, not once glancing upon Changmin the whole time as he pulls him inside.

The tent is warm and well lit, glowing orange under the flames. Not a gust of wind finds its way through.

The King tilts his face left to right, fingers rough and cold. “So you’re the son of Elian of the South. I must say, I expected someone not quite as fortunate looking as you, however it’s not in the least unpleasant. If I had to deal with a doppelganger of the Southern Lord I think I’d rather have sent you straight back.”

Changmin feels the courage seep from his body inch by inch, but he refuses to break. He keeps his eyes to the floor and belies nothing of his fear.

“I hear you’re a Grey Wolf like your parents before you. How callous of them to cast you away, no?”

Changmin knows the King is trying to rouse something in him, though he’s not sure what exactly or why.

The King barks harsh laughs that make Changmin feel like he’s less than an insect on a boot. “Don’t tell me you don’t speak the common tongue, boy? I thought all the boys in the South’s Capital were educated.”

Changmin raises his chin and looks to the King’s throat. “I’m of the most educated from Avion.”

The King steps towards Changmin and bares his teeth, flame light flickering and burning him from orange to black. “It’s been ten years since I last visited the South, so you’ll have to excuse my lack of knowledge, but I believe they teach you manners in that swamp-land, yes? I am your _King, The_ King, your owner, and you will refer to me as such.” The King grabs Changmin’s jaw and jerks him so close their noses brush. “Don’t forget your manners, boy. Even a Dog can learn to shit outside, so I’m sure a Southern boy can learn, too.”

Changmin rips his face from the king’s grasp and raises his to stare directly in the King’s eyes foolishly.

“You’re only a whore,” The King says, trailing a long finger down the front of Changmin’s chest, catching the collar of his shirt and exposing his skin, “yet so vicious!”

Before Changmin can think better of it, he’s lurching at the King. His aim is off and his strength weak, but he manages to land a hit on the corner of Yunho’s mouth. His lip curls back over his tooth and comes away bloody. Yunho, clearly caught off guard, doesn’t block the blow and stumbles back with wide eyes.

“I’d not go to bed with you, even to save my own life,” Changmin hisses.

Yunho’s eyes flash something fierce and he strides forward. A second away from putting his hands around Changmin’s neck, Yunho falters and lets out a sharp breath through his nose. He drops his hands to Changmin’s shoulders and pushes him outside, snapping to the guards, “to his room, now!” He looks at Changmin straight in the eye, fury boiling from every inch of his stance. “As for you, I’ll have you dealt with later. Be grateful I didn’t kill you on the spot.” He ducks into his tent again and Changmin’s head is pushed down as he’s manhandled back to the castle. The guards shove him to the stone hard floor and his knees crack. When they’ve taken their leave, Kyuhyun paws up to him and cocks his head.

Changmin ignores him and curls back down on his bed. “Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”


	5. To Central

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen...  
> sorry it's a short chapter i've been really busy Dx but I'll be back to normal next week!!

Luna laughs the moment Yunho stomps into her bedchamber with a split lip and an expression sour as spilt milk. She sits back on her bed, the mattress not even close to the quality she prefers at home, but not indecent for a camping spot.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say your meeting didn’t go quite how you planned.” Luna smirks, revelling in riling her brother up. Being the closest person to the King, she knows of his insistent pride and sensitive heart, and it stirs something cruel and teasing in her.

“ _Werewolves,”_ he spits.

Luna gives him a look. “Need I remind you that you yourself—“

“I’m fully aware _, thank you_ sister. But this boy, this… _whore_ no less thinks he can raise a hand to the King and get away with it?”

“Oh don’t be such a child _._ It’ll heal just as it does for the Common Bloods, and they seem to live long enough. So? Tell me what happened to make him strike someone oh so mighty as the King.”

Yunho huffs and thinks of the boy’s face, the burning of his eyes and the down curl of his lips. What he lacked in physical power he compensated with the energy of a beast at war. “I merely called him a whore which, apparently, he didn’t like.”

Luna rolls her eyes. “Yes, you just called the son, or former son should I say, of the Southern King a whore. I’m sure he was _delighted._ ”

Yunho pokes Luna in the forehead. “Quiet from you.”

It’s silent save for the occasional footsteps, and her words sting right through the quiet. “I like him,” she says, looking right to the King’s eyes. “I think he’s got spirit and a lot more inside him than he knows.”

“Luna you’re being soft—“

“And I’m not just saying that because of who he is—or who he resembles. I truly think there’s something interesting about the boy. His aura, his smell. I can’t quite put it to words, but there’s something in me that knows not to ignore his him. Oh, don’t give me that pitying look. I know what you think, but I know he’s not just another slave.”

Yunho raises his palms and hunches his shoulders. “Think what you want.”

“And I will.” They share a long heated glare. Luna looks down first. “What are you to do with the boy?”

“We’re due to travel to Central tomorrow at dawn. The soldiers can walk by foot—you and I are to take the carriage back. It should take us no less than a ten days to arrive, the foot soldiers should take double, but half our reserves still stand at the castle. It shouldn’t present a problem. I’ll tell the guards tonight when we plan to leave. As for the boy… I’ll decide what to do with him when we reach the castle.”

Luna raises her eyebrows and pulls the silk comforter layered with specks of dust over her knees. “And you call _me_ the soft one.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyuhyun sits up so fast from his bundle of hay that it goes flying, bits sticking in his hair and the rest dancing in the air. “You did what?!”

The first light of dawn sparks the room, mudded a faint green from the stained windows.

“As I said,” Changmin says, voice meek and worry spilling from his gut. He’s not ashamed of what he did in the slightest. He knew no matter how desperate he was to live that he would not join the King in the bed. He’s not ashamed, but he _is_ terrified of what comes next. Changmin has heard stories from his mother at bedtime, how the criminals in Central are punished from the lightest of crimes, how even picking a flower you were not permitted to could lead to a lashing. Changmin doesn’t fear death so much as he fears what comes before it. If getting flogged was the solution to a minor crime, what would befall him?

Kyuhyun stares at him with round eyes. A piece of hay is stuck to his lips. “Well fuck me sideways with a broom. You, my friend, are a crazy son of a bitch. You’re lucky he didn’t have your head on the spot!”

Changmin shivers. He wants to escape, and he considered it throughout his restless sleep, but with the collar there’s no way in the world he’ll make it a step away without alerting the guards. If in his wolf from, he could at least hope to outrun them, but his only defence has been taken away. He curses himself for not paying attention during the lessons Dron tried to teach him to build strength and learn to wield a sword in case it was necessary. He’d always thought them silly and pointless, because why would a wolf need to wield a dagger when their fangs were twice as sharp? His arms are so weak he doubts he could even hold a sword for any longer than ten minutes.

“Well it was nice knowing you, I guess. So what’s the verdict? Death in the arena? Fighting a beast? Drowning in a river?”

Changmin pinches his lips and snaps, “comforting, Kyuhyun.”

He shrugs and tussles the hay from his hair. “Hey, not my fault you punched the King. You made your own bed, now you get to lie in it. On the bright side, you’re not dead _yet._ ” At Changmin’s horrified face, Kyuhyun musters a little sympathy. “Okay, I’m _mostly_ teasing. If the King wanted you dead I’m fairly sure he’d have your ass chained up in silver outside somewhere. The fact that you’re even allowed to sleep in here is a good sign. This one time I knew this absolute wanker from the East, and I dunno I think he murdered someone, but as soon as they saw him they shoved him in a cell and pissed on him, so.”

“That’s an awful tease,” Changmin says weakly.

Kyuhyun grins and Changmin begins to realise that the pissed off look Kyuhyun always has on his face is permanent, even when he’s smiling. “Yeah, my bad. Who knows though, maybe you were such a good fuck that the King’s willing to let it slide so he can get in again.”

Changmin’s cheeks burn red. “I didn’t share his bed!”

“So you punched the King, _and_ you didn’t sleep with him? Oh boy. _Oh boy._ ” He scratches his chin and then lets out a long, heady sigh. “Well, may the nine Gods be with you kid.”

Changmin rolls over on his bundle of hay and groans.

“Oi you lazy tits!” a booming voice sounds from the doorway. “We’re packing up and heading home on the King’s say so. I expect you all ready and this whole place cleaned by noon, you hear?”

A chorus of ‘yessir’ comes from the sleepy soldiers mixed in with a few barks from those still not transformed back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Luna shifts forward on her seat. The carriage is big enough to fit eight men comfortably within. There’s enough room for Luna to stand, but Yunho’s head just touches to the top of the roof. Made from the strongest of oaks, the walls of the carriage are so dense that even the most strong of swordsman would have trouble piercing it. The seats and flooring are made of bouncy red velvet, and royal blue curtains block out the sun from the arched steel windows.

Luna pulls back the curtain and peeks outside at the foot soldiers. She grins and looks to Yunho with mirth clouding her eyes and smile. “Oh, look! It’s your favourite person. He looks quite pretty all tied up like that you know. It’s no wonder you’ve got a soft spot for him.”

“I have no such thing. I keep him well because you ask it of me, nothing more,” Yunho scoffs.

Luna opens her eyes very wide and leans forward, elbows on knees and hands cupping her face. She finds it funny that she needn’t have specified who exactly she was speaking of. “Uh huh. Tell me more.”

Yunho pushes her forehead until she falls back in her seat with a huff. “No need to get so grumpy about it, Koe.” She tuts and pouts, keeping an eye on the boy. “What was the name of the boy again?”

Yunho is looking out the opposite window now, putting on his best expression of boredom, lips downturned. “Changmin, I believe.”

Luna swings the door open and ignores Yunho’s questions, hopping out on bare feet and striding off, head held high.

 

 

Changmin hears the commotion before he sees what’s happening. He gets on his toes and peeks over the crowd, spotting Luna moving towards the groups of foot soldiers. People bow left and right, but she doesn’t return their greetings and instead comes to a halt in front of Changmin, hands on hips. If he had any doubt that she was here for him, the finger on his chin certainly erases it.

“So,” she says, and Changmin straightens, on guard right away. Luna has been nothing but kind to him, but she is still the King’s sister, the sister of the person he did something unimaginable to. “I heard you punched my brother. Gave him quite a nice split lip that’s not healing all so quick since it’s from a wolf boy like you.”

Changmin’s throat is dry. He knows the right thing to do would be to apologise, but he can’t find it in himself to be sorry for his actions. He regrets them, yes, but he won’t apologise for standing his ground. His lips stick together and Luna smiles crookedly, a canine poking out. She grabs the knot of ropes tying his wrists together and pulls him towards the King’s carriage. He tries digging his heels into the dirt, but Luna is far stronger and he only succeeds in stumbling over his own feet. Changmin casts a desperate look at Kyuhyun, the only person he feels even slightly comfortable with in this hell hole. Kyuhyun bumps his chest with his fist twice and places a hand on his heart, a sign of prayer. He goes out of sight as the reach the doors of the carriage, and Luna climbs up. She holds out her hand for his and Changmin stumbles back.

“No—no, I think I should stay out here. I’m much more comfortable walking, my lady. My feet don’t even hurt and I’m very adept at –“

“It’s the Lady’s orders,” Luna winks, cutting him off. “How will the King find someone to entertain him for the long trip?” She pulls him up and Changmin just about has a heart attack when he sees the King, split lip and expression that says he’s looking for blood.

Luna settles into her seat and pulls Changmin down next to her. Changmin shuffles as far as he can into the corner, heart racing. Seeing the King, disgust runs right from the top of his neck to the bottom of his spine, his stomach spinning. King or not, someone who would even intend to rape deserves no respect in his eyes.

The King stares him down and he stares right back. A whip cracks and the carriage jolts into motion.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The first night of camping is the hardest to endure. They’re still within the borders of the South and the cold air stings like pricklevine rash on skin. Yunho’s never quite had a dislike for the cold as he travels to the North for business and feasts to celebrate Central and the North’s union in war and trade, but the air in the South makes his skin crawl. Even within the confines of his carriage, he feels the back of his neck tingling as if something were watching him wheel through the forest. The cold has nothing to do with the temperate, and all the more to do with the absence of comfort.

His servants set he and his sister a tent, thrice the size of any others, and they settle inside on the lush blankets and bear skins. Luna brings the boy with her and Yunho doesn’t attempt to hide his distaste at her actions. Had he known the boy would be so much trouble, he would’ve sent him straight back to his castle. A southern boy doesn’t mean to exist anywhere outside of the South, all as savage as wild beasts. Yunho has seen far too many of his villages raided and people torn apart by Southerner’s to ever feel an inch of forgiveness to the countries people. Luna insists he’s different, but Yunho refuses to let her bias sway him. The only reason he hasn’t had his pathetic and bumbling head as any King would, should he be struck by just a whore, is that he is the Southern Lord’s son. If he turns out to be a spy, Yunho will detain him and extract all the information he possibly can. If else, he’ll figure out his course of action when the time comes.

Luna sits cross next to the boy who has huddled himself in the darkest corner of the tent. He flushes red and appears startled, trying to worm his way away but slings her arm around his shoulder and pulls him still. He stops trying to escape but his thick lips are pinched and pouted. The King feels a moment of pity. The child is only fifteen, not even the age of a man, but he’s been sent here on such a dangerous mission. He quickly squashes the burst of sympathy.

 

“What’s it like back there in that home of yours?” Luna asks, leaning far forward so she can get a look at the boy’s face.

He avoids eye contact and stares at his fingers, drumming them high on his thighs. “It’s as you saw.” His words are stilted and give rise of annoyance in Yunho’s chest. His manner of speaking to a Central royal is unheard of, be him a royal himself, he is not part of the King’s family.

“What’s your family like?”

Changmin winces imperceptibly, and if Yunho were a Common Blood he would’ve missed the gestures entirely. He dances around the question, keeping his words careful. “I have three older brothers and one younger. They get along with each other. My only elder sister is marred to the Vecht family of the North, if you’re familiar with them.”

He doesn’t mention his father.

Luna hums and rocks the two of them back and forth ever so slowly. “I am. Yolan’s just come of age two years ago and had a child, if I recall correctly.”

“Krita, a girl,” Yunho cuts in, words sharp. “We had a sister once,” Luna inches her head to the side and clenches her jaw shut, eyes wide in warning. “She was killed by your father’s men, actually, just two years ago. She never even knew her life was in danger until the dagger of your father’s assassin slit her throat in two.”

“Koe,” Luna barks.

Yunho rises to his feet and the boy melts back into Luna’s comfort. “We’ll leave before the sun rises.” He unclothes himself with his back turned, slipping the fur coat from his shoulders and pooling to the floor. Luna’s bite on his right forearm, made when she was sixteen and wanted to bond with Yunho as her leader, aches in the slightest. Yunho has bite marks from head to toe from his pack members whom he sealed to his family. Hr runs his fingers over it once before transforming into his wolf.

He notices the boy’s stare on his wolf form, and he can take an educated guess as to why. Yunho’s wolf is almost twice the size of a regular wolf. Even the large carriage they used to travel could only fit two of him inside. His fur is pitch black as writing ink and his eyes glow a mix of amber and red. He is, in the simplest way of saying it, intimidating. Yunho arches his back and stretches, parading his strength and status.

He looks to the boy and Luna, her now in her wolf, sidling up to the boy. Luna licks a long stripe up his face and he giggles behind his hand, trying to shield himself. She pads around him and curls her body in on his for warmth.

Yunho’s chest sparks in irritation and he exhales sharply, unconsciously baring his teeth. He tucks in his tail and spins twice on the spot before facing away from the two, staring at the tent wall.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ::mentions of rape, torture, & culling::

Luna’s awoken by a thick gust of wind rushes through, the tent wobbling from the force. She glances to her brother to see him sitting up, ears pointed and alert. His ears twitch and fall as the wind settles, but he doesn't let his guard drop. Changmin’s asleep curled up and hugging Luna’s fur, and she tries her best not to disturb him. The days of travelling had put a strain on the younger boy who was apparently not used to anything but soft beds and coal heated baths. Luna remembers her first trip from her home and the jarring difference between being treated with utmost care to having to mostly take care of herself.

_It’s getting colder, Koe._

Yunho raises his head and casts a quick glance at his sister, the bond of his pack member transferring through his mind. _It’s freeze. Of course it’s cold._

_Don’t be dense. The air is… different. It’s dry and cold, and the animals and insects can’t handle it. You saw the carcasses of the birds. Try and tell me that’s natural._

On the third day of travel as they passed the first bridge, still one bridge away from leaving the Southern borders, the waters seemed calm. The Great Divide would on a normal day be teeming with life, small fish leaping from the surface and plunging in, birds skimming their claws against the water for prey. The silence was disturbing and shook something in Luna. The further they travelled to land, the more her unease settled right through her. Black ravens, honeybirds, and rodents alike were scattered across the road every few moments of the passing day. A mosquito had flown through her open window, buzzing its wings unevenly with it's last stretch of life before it dropped.

Yunho rises to his paws and stretches out his back, spine curling and cracking satisfactorily, eyes landing on the boy. _I’m not saying its natural, sister, I’m saying right now there are more important things to be concerned about right now._

Luna growls and lowers her ears. _More important than our people going hungry because our stocks won’t grow?_

_We’ve had cold winters before._

_Not like this._

_You’ve never lived in the South, what would you know of the winters?_

Luna snaps her teeth together in warning and Changmin shifts below her.

Yunho pads up to her and lifts his nose in the air. _Ask the boy if you’re so desperate for answers._

_If he’s ignorant, he should stay that way. There’s no gain in frightening the child._

Yunho glares then backs away, sniffing at her comment. He curls to sleep, pushing the unease he feels to the side. When the time comes, he will think over the chill in the air and the slow dying of the world around him. For now, he won't worry when he hasn't the time to.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The carriage rolls to a stop and Changmin’s stomach sings with a mix of fear, uncertainty, and excitement. They had passed from the Southern borders from the stone bridge into Central, and while the journey was uncomplicated, the thick mists from the rivers hung heavy over the carriage and shrouded them in darkness. Even when they passed into Central to South Gate’s fort and the air turned clear and crystal, the windows stayed a murky mix of green and white, blocking Changmin’s vision of the new land. He didn’t dare ask The King nor even Luna to open the window. Although he feels a certain comfort from Luna and her lulling words, he doesn’t feel safe in her presence. Kind of heart she may be, but she is still the King’s sister. If there was one thing Changmin learned from his father that he would never forget, it was that he should never trust one with power unless you wanted a knife buried between your shoulders.

They only stopped when the days had bled out and the sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky shrouding the land black. The nights were different—where in the South the moonlight shone weak and filtered through the treetops, the nights here were bathed in a pale white glow. The moon hung in the sky as bright as a candle in a crypt and Changmin could actually lay eyes upon the scattering of the stars. They gave him a blurry look at the land, but none of those nights compares to the moment he steps into the daylight outside the King’s city, Highbourne.

A breath Changmin doesn’t even think to take swells his lungs.

The land itself seems to be painted in bright greens and blossoms of whites, reds, and yellows. The trees spill tall into the sky, leaves glinting like diamonds in the bright sun. There’s so much space and freedom just within the vision of the land that Changmin trembles, overwhelmed. The air hangs like balm on skin and smells a mix of land after rain and cinnamon, warm and comforting though there are still ten days from the end of freeze, entering into bloom. Changmin can only imagine the beauty of the land when bloom hit it’s full. To his East, a crystalline lake sinks the ground a decent walk away, curling into a river that flows around the castle and into the West. Tumbling clouds roll through the sky, tall and surreal, the tops glinting silver.

Changmin aches to shed his shoes and feel the grass and earth beneath his toes, to connect with the land and suck up the richness the soil holds.

A hand on the back of his neck pushes his head down and him forward, breaking his moment of awe and longing. Changmin chances a quick glance back to see the King behind him, and winces when the nails dig in tighter to his flesh.

His head stays pushed forward as they start to move. Changmin worries at his lip. He was momentarily distracted by the beauty of the land, and in turn the realisation of what his arrival means swims through him. He wasn’t here to be treated as a Lord’s son, but as a whore, and one that had incensed the King by striking him, no less. His arrival means his punishment and his nerves spike.

 

 

The King leads him to a soldier who’s standing rapt at attention, stiff with nerves from the proximity of the most powerful man in the whole of Crytor.

He stands beside Changmin now and allows him to lift his head. “Take the boy to the dungeons until further notice.” He glances to Changmin and frowns so hard the shadows of his eyebrows turn his eyes black.

With seemingly great reluctance, the King lets go of Changmin’s neck and wraps his long fingers around Changmin’s wrist, keeping him at a distance as he motions something to the guard Changmin can’t understand, though he recognises it as Central’s military sign language. The solider looks to him with some confusion but still nods and acquiesces with a stutter and a bow.

The King pulls Changmin forward with the gentleness of a bear and offers his wrist to the solider who takes it and curls his arm behind his back. Changmin winces at the grip and sends a nasty look the soldier’s way.

“Eyes forward,” he says, not unkindly.

Changmin eyes the castle and its surroundings. Where they landed is clear and without construction, but inside the gates are teeming with life. Rows of stalls stacked with provisions, clothes, and jewellery line each entrance, but no one is interested in the slightest in them, all eyes fixed on the King and his men. They lower to their knees as the King passes behind him, and Changmin spies a young street urchin snatch a loaf of bread and wheel of cheese. He smirks to himself and keeps quiet.

Even from the far away distance, Changmin can see the King’s castle branching tall into the sky, bricks smoky grey and windows made from iron giving the briefest glimpse of the inside. There’s a warmth about it that never graced his castle at home. The flowers and plants are placed far more sparsely than his home, but it still seems to hold more life.

Changmin doesn’t get the chance he wants to look around before he’s pulled through a mossed door to an underground prison that smells so rancid he can barely breathe. The halls are burnt orange from the occasional candle, making it difficult to see, but he squints his eyes to spy the other prisoners. Most laze in their cells and don’t even spare a glance up at Changmin, but one woman in particular stares at him with misty eyes as he passes. Changmin can tell she’s locked in silver by the red rashes around her locks, blood stains around her neck, ankles, and hands.

He feels sick.

To his horror, Changmin is lead to the cell next to hers. The cell bars give no illusion of privacy.

The soldier that took him signing something to the prison guard and pointing at Changmin’s neck. The prison guard nods and approaches him, clamping his ankles in shackles, thankfully, not of silver. He’s given a curious look by the man when he locks the cage, but after that is given no attention, and glad for it.

Be it not his ideal rest spot, it’s the only moment he’s had alone since he’d been taken as a slave. He’s been trapped under the watchful gaze of the King for the whole journey, and he hasn’t allowed himself an inch to bend since. Changmin isn’t naturally one to snap from anger, but when his boundaries are pushed a vengeance and determination runs through him like stone. The King of Crytor has stepped through his boundaries as if there were none in the first place. He does not allow himself to feel a second of pity for the King, not even when he’d told the story of his sister’s death, nor his brother’s, sad as it were. Pity makes him feel an edge of forgiveness, nothing a man so callous and eager to inflict fear, should be given.

Left alone, his anger fades into a quiet depression that hangs on his shoulders. He should be frightened out of his wits and begging to be spared, but instead his body gives way to numbness. It’s surreal. Just weeks ago he lay in his bed and slept in comfort, and it still feels like when he closes his eyes he’ll wake up to his bedroom.

But such peace never comes.

 

 

Changmin’s awoken by the rustling of chains and a threatening growl. He sits up on high alert, spotting the woman in the cage next to him thrashing in her sleep. She kicks and moans, only waking when her head smashes into the wall behind her. Breathing through her mouth, the air comes shaky and short, lips stark red against her skin.

Her eyes snap to Changmin’s, long hair whipping her face then falling limply. “What’re you staring at?”

Changmin jumps, heart banging in fear.

Her eyes are _white_.

He couldn’t tell from her hair since the orange glow of the candles coloured it, but now he’s closer he understands what she is.

She’s a white wolf.

Heavy creases cut her eyelids. Her skin is pale and drawn, struggling to stretch around her bones.

He’s never seen one in person. Well, not one that was alive. The people of the South take great pride in slaughtering them and selling their coats to the richest of people. Ever since the very first King stumbled across the land and the slaughter of the white wolves was ordered, seeing them is a rarity that most people never chance in their lifetimes. He can’t take his eyes off her.

“Fucking freak,” she spits, straining against her chains Changmin’s way.

Even though she’s secured to the high hells, Changmin scuttles back. From young he was told of their powers and the danger they posed to the rest of the wolves. Some were able to manipulate the world around them using only their minds, holding magic in their souls.

Footsteps fall close and an unfamiliar man holds the bars of her cells. “Krystal,” he snaps. “Quiet.” Her eyes go bright as she catches sight of him, wide grin pulling at her lips. She relaxes back into the wall. He says no more words and retreats, and she says nothing either.

Changmin’s mind spins.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Yunho stops in front of the prison, stepping from his carriage and wrinkling his nose as the unpleasant smell of bodily fluids and odour. He wonders how those of the guards that are werewolves can stand it when it burns like acid down his throat. He motions for the closest guard and asks to be brought the boy named Changmin. He stands as far away as he can from the building while still getting a clear view to avoid the acerbic smell. The wolves coat he wears to cement his authority itches at his back under the sun. Even in the Freeze, the days were warm, the temperatures hardly changing from season to season. Not five minutes later, Changmin is lead from the entrance, wrists clamped and expression one of extreme discomfort and worry.

Yunho lets his eyes trail from head to toe and back again, noticing the lack of footwear. The boy seems unharmed, as he’d asked the prison guard to make sure of, for Luna’s sake. He’s aware of the brutality that occurs underground; he has to take note of all the recent deaths, after all. The boy refuses to make eye contact, and if it were not for the smell, Yunho would grab his chin and force it upon him.

“Where are his shoes?” he asks, words strict. “I asked you to make sure he was unharmed, not to have him treated as an important.” The boy looks confused at his words—nothing he doesn’t expect given the boy is a Southerner and therefore lacking in manners. Bare feet were a sign of confidence and wealth. Only those who could afford to catch a thorn in their foot were brave enough to walk the land without cover **.**

The guard splutters something that Yunho can’t quite understand, and Yunho lets out a long sigh, cutting him off. “Bring him to the throne room. And for the gods, dress him properly.”

He turns away with one last glance at the boy.

 

 

Yunho is more than pleased when the boy is bought to his throne room cleaned, and clothed as the slave he is. He drags his feet along the cold grey stone, his boots scraping. Banners of silver, and teal line the walls along with dispersed colourful and elaborate paintings that reach all the way from the floor to the high roof. The howling wolves stitched on the banners bring him a sense of comfort and he finally feels at home and in his element.

Yunho eases into the throne, hard with gold and silver embellishments among the leather, display a quiet show of authority, as if he can afford to be relaxed.

The boy comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs and stays standing, much to Yunho’s annoyance.

“Kneel,” he commands, and when Changmin refuses to co-operate the guard shoves him down by the shoulders. It gives Yunho a sense of satisfaction to hear the crack of his knees against the stone. The boy’s eyes stay trained to the bottom step of the stairs, and Yunho looks down with amusement, letting the silence stretch on.

Just as he starts to wince from the harsh dig of the floor, Yunho passes his gaze to the guard. “You may take your leave.” He follows him with his eyes until he disappears through the darkwood doors that slam with a resounding slam. Yunho stands from his throne and folds his hands behind his back, foot hovering over the first step. “You understand…” he drawls, finally letting his foot fall on the step. The boy flinches at the sound. “That one would feel their bones quake in their skin from even a narrowed eye from the King.” He continues down the stairs, each step heavy in the otherwise silence. “That an ordinary man should fear for his life for merely raising his voice.”

Yunho walks until his feet nearly touch Changmin’s knees. The boy still resolutely refuses to raise his head. Although the boy is clearly scared, Yunho realises the boy won’t raise his eyes not out of fear, but spite.

“If you were an ordinary man, I’d have half a mind to behead you the moment you raised your fist, but,” he sighs, “Luna has a certain… _fondness_ for you. One I can’t say I share in the slightest. However, I am starting to realise you’re not quite the ordinary man.”

Changmin stiffens and curls his lips down. “I’m a lord’s son, not an ordinary man.”

Yunho slips a finger under Changmin’s collar and yanks him forward, using his thumb to tilt his chin up. He has the eyes of a man ready to die. “That you are.” His breath brushes the strands of Changmin’s long hair. “And for that reason exactly, I’ve decided on a far more generous form of punishment. Today will not be the day you die, Shim Changmin, but it will be the day you wish you already had.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Changmin’s led to the town’s square, stomach curling with sick. Nearing noon, the sun beats down hot on his shoulders and the top of his head. While he would usually find refuge within the warmth, he now finds it intolerable and sticky, his body rejecting the sudden change in temperature. His hands aren’t tied together anymore, but two burly men who are double the size of him hold him steady, forcing him to walk towards the wooden platform that juts out right in the middle of the square. Above it hangs a steady bar of metal and wood, and Changmin realises it for what is is—a hold to hang people to death. They haul him up the steps and raise his arms so forcibly they crack, tying his wrists together and looping the top of the rope around the top bar, trapping him in place. Changmin tries to keep as calm as possible. The King is watching from barely a few steps away, arms crossed over and expression closed, and Changmin refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing him crumble. He’s trapped, alone, and in a new land, but he will only bend, never break.

Standing at attention, a platoon of fifty soldiers hang behind the King. He knows from the way they traced him with their eyes from the moment he came in sight that they’re there for him.

The two men step back, and in their place, Jung Yunho stands. He steps right into Changmin’s space and tugs at the rope, checking it’s steadiness.

He blinks slowly and slides his gaze to Changmin. “My men have been kept away from battle far too long to be forgiving.”  

A crowd of common bloods dressed in ragged material begins to form, all eyes on him.

Yunho hangs his eyes on Changmin’s chest. “Falgor, have him stripped,” he orders.

Changmin’s chest caves and his eyes fill with tears he refuses to shed. His sanity is hanging from a string so thin it could snap with a single pluck. He watches with wide eyes and cold fear as a short but well-built man rushes to stand in Changmin’s space, is breath smells sour and rotten.

Falgor grips the bottom of his shirt and bunches it near the collar, pulling a dagger from his belt. Changmin arches back on instinct as he brings it closer, sliding his knife under the fabric and tearing through it with the serrate. The drawstrings of his pants are pulled and yanked away, leaving him naked for everyone to see. Changmin’s squirms against the ropes, exposed, ashamed, and more frightened for his fate than he’s ever felt. He kicks out in panic, hoping to distract the man even for a moment, but to his horror the man catches his ankles and squeezes them in his grip. He snips at the men around him until he is handed a rope which he uses to tie Changmin’s feet. For a terrible moment, Changmin thinks that Falgor means to take him by force right there and then, but his thoughts are derailed by a woman passing a heavy leather whip into Falgor’s hands. Letting go of Changmin, he runs his fingers over the bend, left hand gripping the whip so hard his knuckles turn white.

“It’s not silver—so you won’t die or nothing,” Falgor says, like he’s being kind. “But I can tell you it’ll be the first taste of true pain you’ll ever receive.”

Changmin wants to scream. He wants to beg for mercy. He wants to feel the ground beneath his feet as a wolf. He wants warm beds and elaborate dinners and a place to belong. He wants to go _home._

But he can’t.

He won’t afford Yunho, the man who caused this all, the pleasure of seeing him snap, so he keeps his head held high.

Falgor rounds him and takes the first strike to his back without hesitation. He feels the skin split, and the whip bury itself in the crack of his skin. It’s nothing like he’s ever felt before. The world around him slows and his vision blurs over, hearing dulled. The thing he can focus on is the icy snap of the whip, and he feels every inch of it sliding out, feels the blood spit and run down his back and thighs. His shout of pain is caught in his throat. Glad that he didn’t cry out and show his weakness, he clamps his teeth over his lips.

Each soldier takes a turn to burrow the leather between his skin, and each hurts more than the last. His body spams at the blows, breath unable to catch in his lungs. Though each laceration heals for every third he receives, the sting of the whips blur into a constant burn that flares every time the wind so much as grazes it. The only memory he has that comes near the pain is of him as a few years younger when he’d clumsily fell backwards, hand catching in the fire.

A pause between the whippings has Changmin looking up to see Kyuhyun standing, face pinched and pale. Kyuhyun holds the whip in hand, not putting any real grip into it. The veins in his neck bulge and he doesn’t meet Changmin’s eyes as he shuffles behind him. Changmin winces before the whip even hits, tears gathering in his eyes just from the memory of the sting. He clenches and grits his teeth, waiting for the strike that doesn’t come. Changmin glances over his shoulder and sees Kyuhyun with his head down, lips sucked in his mouth.

“Do it,” Changmin hisses, words carving through his thickened throat. Changmin wants to pretend he’s afraid that Kyuhyun will be punished, but really he’s scared for himself. He’s scared that the delay in his punishment may lead to more later. “Get it over with.”

Changmin looks forward as Kyuhyun raises his whip, but still not his head, striking down with a hit so pathetic it doesn’t even break the skin. Changmin doesn’t even flinch.

“Again,” the King demands, the mere sound of his voice making shivers run like water down his shoulders.

Changmin watches Kyuhyun take a firmer grip of the whip and move to hit again. While the swing is strong, he falters at the last moment and the leather strikes like a slap of a palm. Two more hits land weak and Changmin growls deep in his throat, ready to bite Kyuhyun’s neck off if he has to. Before he even has the chance, the King barks, “enough!” Far more escorts than need be line his sides of which most, if not all, twitch at the shout. “Strike him properly unless you intend to be the next with his hands tied.”

A flinch courses through Kyuhyun’s body and he lashes without warning, completely on instinct. Changmin’s knees buckle at the sting, more painful than most he has received, and he can’t contain the whimper that escapes his lips.

Kyuhyun freezes behind him and opens his mouth to say something, but whatever words he meant to speak are drowned out by the drone of the next soldier’s taunts. Changmin lets his eyes slip closed and prays for it to end.

 

 

By the time Changmin has regained consciousness, the area is cleared of soldiers besides Kyuhyun who works at the ties on his ankles. The only who pass by are common bloods, young children running to him and peeking through their fingers.

Kyuhyun watches him while he slices through the rope binding his wrists, lips tight and discoloured. Changmin curls in on himself instinctively, trying to wrap himself in the comfort of his arms. It does little to hide his unclothed body, and he feels his shoulders shake from the swell of emotions that spin through him so fast he doesn’t have a chance to catch them and understand.

“Got some clothes for you. Hurry and put ‘em on.” He tosses the ball of fabric and Changmin struggles to catch it, his whole body aching. He slips the clothes on as fast as he can manage, revelling in the protection they coat him in. “Follow me out. You’ll need a minute.”

The stares claw at the back of his neck when he turns his back.

 

 

The further they walk, the more agitated Kyuhyun becomes. His fists clench and relax methodically, nails denting his palms.

Changmin keeps one eye on Kyuhyun’s back.

He leads them to the lake Changmin first laid eyes on outside the carriage, what was not only a day ago, but the memories play blurred as if it had been a lifetime.

The grass they walk upon is soft and level, none even reaching calves even as they step from the path and amble through the twined trees to the lake.

He dips his hands under the water and finally takes a moment to see them stained with blood. The burn of the rope cut into his skin, but he was hardly concerned at the time. Even after his blood has been sucked away with the soft, lapping current, he leaves his hands under. It’s the coolest thing he’s felt since leaving home.

He only snaps them out when Kyuhyun rolls his trousers over his hips and relieves himself in the lake.

Kyuhyun shimmies and grabs a hold of his dick. “We call this the cock lake.”

Changmin avoids his gaze, face burning. “Why?”

Kyuhyun tucks himself back into his pants and does up the drawstring with quick fingers. “Are you _sure_ you’re one of those educated folks? You’re a tid bit,” he opens his mouth and whacks the top of his head, hollow noises coming from his mouth, “empty.”

Changmin squares his shoulders.

“It’s ‘cause it’s in the shape of a cock, kid. See here,” he says, scuffing his foot on the grass, “is the left ball. Up there is the cock.”

Changmin screws up his face. The mundane chatter numbs his brain for blissful moments. “You reside next to a… a _penis?_ ”

“No need to sound so uppity about it. Legend says it’s why the original king chose to put the castle here—he didn’t have a cock of his own, got chopped off in battle after he’d had his second son, the poor fuck, so he was compensating or something. I mean, if you don’t got a cock, might as well live next to one. When it’s official business they like to call it the Lower Lake, but.”

“How… _crude_.”

Kyuhyun runs his tongue over his canine and drops his gaze to the front of Changmin’s pants. “Don’t think you’re gonna need to do any compensating.”

Changmin tenses and jerks himself into a ball. All signs of Kyuhyun’s earlier friendliness has melted its way to a mockery of a smile. “Do _not_ speak about me like that.”

Kyuhyun takes a swanky step forward and barks a laugh. “I’ve heard the men talk about you, Shim, and guess what? You’re not royalty here, _kid_. You’re just a whore that only gets to live ‘cause the King says so. You’ll bend over like a good fuck, and don’t forget that’s all you’ll be worth.”

“My father—“

“Doesn’t give a shit, does he? Sent his prettiest son out to be a whore for the King, didn’t he? I wouldn’t exactly call that stellar parenting, kid.”

Changmin blinks furiously, face flooding pink.

Kyuhyun sighs and steps so close he’s only a shoe away. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not _trying_ to be the bad guy here, I’m just saying you need to learn where you stand, pretty boy.” Kyuhyun puts his hand on the front of Changmin’s pants, and Changmin squirms. “You’re just a cock and arsehole around here. And remember, even a goats got those.”

Changmin growls deep in his throat and elbows Kyuhyun in the chest.

The man spits on Changmin’s shoe and steps back. “If the King didn’t want to fuck you so much I’d put a bruise on that face of yours. Bet you’d look good in blue and purple.”

Changmin scrambles to his feet and pushes Kyuhyun’s chest, satisfied when the man’s breath catches in his throat. The emotions he’s locked in his chest from the moment he was dragged from his home pump through his body, uncontainable tension filling every inch of him. “What’s your _problem_?”

“My _problem,_ Kyuhyun sneers, pointing his finger right in Changmin’s face, “is that you don’t know your place. You think you can mouth off all you like here ‘cause you used to be a prince like it’s not gonna get you in trouble. You’re man enough to be a whore, but you still can’t understand the meaning of self-preservation.” He digs and twists his finger on Changmin’s sternum. “You don’t know _anything_ about the real world. But what should I expect from a royal? Lower than Dry Bloods, every single one of you! You’ll have your head taken off within days if you don’t learn some respect.”

Changmin growls deep in his throat and leans closer. “And what’s it to you if my head is taken?”

Silence hangs between them as Kyuhyun works his throat, but no words are formed. Finally, he takes a step back and shakes his head. “You’re right. It shouldn’t matter to me what happens to you. If you want to go and die so badly I can do it for you right here and now—I can shove a dagger in your throat and make it far less painful than they ever will.” He takes move to leave and sends one last glare Changmin’s way. “For your sake, I hope you figure out where you’re supposed to stand.”

Once he disappears out of sight, Changmin takes his pent up frustration out on a tree, imagining it were Kyuhyun. The wood breaks and so does his hand. His knuckles feel broken, and unlike lacerations that stitch in minutes, bones take hours to days to deal. He slumps to his knees and lets his forehead rest against the damp grass, the realisation that he’s genuinely alone hitting him right in the stomach.

He has nothing, and no one, with nowhere to go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warning: brief mentions of ritualized self harm

 

Changmin wonders through the woods—if he can even call them so. The trees are so far apart from what he is used to, a whole arms stretch away from each other. There are no vines and the sun manages to reach the grass on the bottom, allowing for shrubs to bloom with flowers are fruits.

Changmin follows a stream downhill, water clear and running thin over rocks. He walks barefoot down through the water, washing his feet with every step. The water is cool and calming, and he feels the knot in his chest loosen in the slightest. Though healed, his back aches with phantom pains. When he closes his eyes, he jolts, feeling that when he opens them he will be tied back to the hanging pole, whip slicing through his skin.

The stream flows into a round pool of water before tipping once again over the edge. At the pooling, he smells and wolf and tenses.

Changmin spies a woman sitting at the river, perching on her toes and washing something in the water, sleeves rolled up. He inches backwards, deciding to find somewhere else to stay, but his foot snaps a stick and the woman jumps to attention.

“Who’s there?” she says, her voice far too soft to have the threatening impact she intended.

Changmin debates leaving or introducing himself, but his decision is made for him when she announces she’ll scream.

He steps out and holds his hands up. “I’m sorry. I was only taking a walk. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her shoulders sag and she doesn’t quite look at Changmin though he’s facing her. Her body is thin but tall, and her skin white and thin as paper. Her hair spills to her waist, so black it look unnatural.

“Oh,” she says. “Sorry, the woods can be frightening when you can’t see.”

The closer Changmin inches, as if lured by a hook, he gets a better look at her eyes. They’re pale and an odd shade of misted blue, not looking at anything. Her features and jaw are delicate and soft, but her eyes are pointed sharp. Something about her feels off. It intrigues Changmin.

Before Changmin can think twice of it, he’s walked straight up to her. She smells of a wolf, but it’s a scent he can’t quite catch, though he swears he’s smelt it before.

“Are you a wolf?” he blurts before he can catch his tongue.

She smiles patiently. “ _You_ must be a wolf then. It’s the smell, isn’t it?”

“It’s… odd. Not in a bad way,” Changmin rushes to amend, “just different.”

She gives him a long look at Changmin shuffles on his toes, feeling awkward and embarrassed. His emotions still run hot through his veins, and now a beautiful woman stands before him—he’s almost bursting from the mix of it all.

She licks her lips and opens her mouth just to close it again, struggling to get the words out. “I’m a dry blood,” she eventually admits, brow furrowed.

Changmin goes quite red. “Oh… I’m sorry.”

She laughs and reaches her hand forward, fingers wrapping around Changmin’s bicep, as if to solidify his presence in her mind. “Don’t be. Sometimes I think it’s worse to be born as a wolf.”

Changmin doesn’t think so, can’t think so, but he hums anyway.

The woman traces her gaze from where her hand rests to Changmin’s first, frowning at it. “You’re injured.”

“I thought you were blind,” Changmin snips, suspicious.

“I can see colours, blurs, and simple shapes, but anything beyond that,” she shrugs, “is a mystery. If you’d like I could take away some of the pain and help it heal. I was born in the East so I know a thing or two about medicine. I know it will heal in no time, but it can’t be comfortable walking with shifted bones.”

“Not so much,” Changmin says, strangely touched by this stranger’s compassion. Ever since he had left the comfort of home, he had been treated as nothing more than a speck of dust blowing in the wind. No one has shown him an inch of respect or care, and her kindness makes him swell. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

He follows her to the edge of the lake and she holds his injured hand in hers, thumb stroking the palm. She prods and pokes, Changmin wincing with every shift.

“What’s your name?” she asks while continuing to work on massaging his hand.

“Changmin.” He hisses as she hits a particularly delicate spot. “And yours?”

“Victoria.”

Changmin’s brow furrows, momentarily distracted in his confusion. “Victoria isn’t an Eastern name.”

“No,” she agrees, “I was born in the East, but moved from country to country as I grew. I took on the name Victoria because it’s neutral, and most seem to pronounce it with no difficulty.”

Changmin’s not going to prod further, but then she hesitates and adds. “My first name was Qi’an. Song Qi’an. Now hold still, this will hurt.”

Changmin gulps. She hadn’t bothered warning him of the pain of her prodding, and he shivers right before she pushes her knuckle into his palm, bone cracking into place. Changmin bites back a scream, his body rejecting the thought of pain. It’s too soon, it’s too soon—

“—You okay?” Victoria asks, her voice blending back with his consciousness.

“Fine,” he snaps. He rises to his feet in one fell swoop, marching away as Victoria calls his name.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“My King,” his messenger greets with a polite bow.

Yunho gestures for him to stand. “What news?” he snipes, tired from the day even though the sun still had many hours until it set. He stands next to the window sill, his silhouette cutting the sun that drowns the room. His bedchambers are large and luxurious, a bed big enough to fit four comfortably layered in soft red covers. Yunho hadn’t the need for such a large bed, but his sister badgered him that he keep the company of at least whores if he was not to marry. A bastard son was better than no son.

The boy, Changmin, had occupied his mind, his face swimming in Yunho’s vision every time he so much as attempted to listen to the council and discuss their plans. The problems piled from petal to root. The crops weren’t growing accordingly though Bloom was riding on the horizon. Common bloods had begun to plead for his assistance. Much as it pained them, Yunho could see, they lowered their foreheads to the ground and begged. As wrong as it felt to turn their concerns away, Yunho had nothing to give them. He was a King, not a magician. The crops acted on their own whims, and he had not an inch of a say in it.

“Lord Heechul of the North sends his _warmest_ regards.” Jung Messenger curls his thin lips, eyes hidden in the shadows from his hood.

Yunho’s lips twitch upwards in a reluctant smile. “And, what does he want?” Yunho knew Heechul better than to expect just a simple greeting. The man as mad as wild boar, Yunho was fond of, but he knew to keep his distance.

“He asks for the white wolf, the woman in your dungeons. She has spent three weeks under your care, and while Lord Heechul expects you have been taking the utmost care with her, he wishes her to be delivered to join the ranks of his army.”

“Tell Heechul that if he wants the woman he can send his own men down himself. I’m not feeling charitable today, Messenger, and the woman is worth her weight in gold. Dare I say we need it after our negotiations with the South. Ask him to bring me the gold and he will receive what he wants.”

Yunho is a moment away from sending his Messenger off, the King holds his dismissal. “Messenger, I ask you keep an eye on the boy.”

“Which boy, my King?”

Yunho’s stomach rolls in annoyance. “The… Shim Changmin. The Southern Lord’s boy. I don’t trust him with an inch of my being. The lashes may have been enough to break him and send him running back home.” He wouldn’t have the information he needed from Yunho to recall to his father, of course, but someone as cowardly as a spy would turn and tuck their tails before even the slightest pains were inflicted. “If the whipping hasn’t cracked him, he may be more of a man than I had expected. But it’s no matter if he does stay, one way or another I _will_ have him speak his intentions.”

“As you wish,” Jung Messenger says, slinking from the room with the lightest of footsteps.

Yunho hears the footsteps of his sister and sighs, each foot smacking hard on the ground, such a contrast to his Messenger. He had known this was to come since whipping the boy, but he would’ve liked it later rather than sooner.

Luna storms to Yunho’s bedchambers before he even has a moment to relax after his conversation with his Messenger. She slams the door shut and stops just a hairs inch away from Yunho, eyes wild and darting from his neck to his eyes. “ _You,_ ” she spits, poison lacing the syllable.

Yunho sighs and takes a step away, lips pinched white. “Yes, _me_.”

Luna stalks closer and before Yunho knows it, he’s trapped between her and the wall, back tingling from the biting cold the stone insulates.

“I asked of you to keep him safe. I _trusted_ you as one should trust their family, and you spit it back in my face!” Her face is contorted in rage, one that Yunho hasn’t seen since their brother passed. Yunho’s gut curls with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Luna, he struck me, the _King_. And are you forgetting his birth? For all we are aware, he could be spying on us as we—“

“I don’t _care_ what he has done, or will do, Yunho. He’s a boy, just a boy. No matter if you think he is a spy or not, he is just a child like our brother who was hurt by his father, and now you’ve let him feel the sting of a second betrayal. I told him I was to keep him safe, and I thought I would have been defending him from the soldiers and the beasts in the woods, not from you.”

Her breaths come laboured, chest heaving. Yunho puts up a hand to placate her then freezes at the words that dart from her mouth.

“You’ve more of your father in your veins than I thought, Yunho.”

Yunho kicks off the wall and pushes his sister by the shoulders. She stumbles but regains her composure within moments, strands of her cropped hair wet with sweat hanging over her eyes and cheeks.

Yunho snarls, “I didn’t kill him.”

“You put a child, a fifteen year old _child, naked,_ on display for all the town to see and laugh at while you watched. You whipped him until he could no longer stand nor breathe. Tell me, Yunho, how is humiliating one ten years younger than you any different to what our father would have done. Tell me how it’s different.”

Yunho’s blood boils in his veins. He remembers the cruelties his father inflicted upon the innocent for doing so much as stealing a loaf of bread. He remembers the day he had turned ten his father had captured a Dry Blood and crushed his fingers under a hammer until the man stopped screaming. His father had told him it was a gift.

_“This will be your job one day, son. Don’t look away. The Dry Bloods deserve every inch of blood they have to be spilled on the floor. Filthy, the lot of them. They’ve no use but to hide in fear from those of us who were born with power. Do you understand that, boy?”_

Yunho’s fists curl at his sides. “I am _not_ like him!” she shouts, his memories bittering his words.

Luna scoffs and looks at him with something akin to horror and pity. “You’ve a funny way of showing it, brother.”

Yunho raises his hand to strike her, but Luna catches it before he can swing. “And now you’ll hit me, your sister, just like our father did. The God’s could only know why I trusted a man like you.”

Yunho only feels anger. Guilt or sadness doesn’t even cut through the first layer of his skin. “I am your brother and your King _._ You _will_ show me the respect I deserve.”

“No, brother,” Luna says, voice moved from a boiling rage to a steady, icy anger. She grabs him by the chin and forces their eyes to meet. “I’ll show you respect when you one again become the man you were before the crown was placed upon you.”

She leaves in the same fashion she arrived. Yunho paws at the skin of his chin, hand coming away with blood.

 

 

Yunho lies to himself that he’s not thinking about Luna’s confrontation. He lies that the words don’t sting like hot oil in his chest. Even standing in front of the graves of his parents, two growing trees with yellow leaves and branches twine together, he pretends he isn’t there to reminisce the past—only to pay his respects. The wind pulls with gentle sweeps, the grass swaying and sighing with each gust.

The graves sit atop a hill, on one side the river flowing into the great divide, on the other plains and rolling hills of jade grass disappear into the horizon. The sun casts the sky yellow and orange.

Yunho rubs the bridge of his nose.

Yunho didn’t care much at all about the people around him, save two living exceptions. His sister was one of them. He hadn’t meant for her to hurt the way she has been by the boy’s punishment, but it was a necessary evil to achieve his goal. Hearing his sister compare him to his father made floods like icy water run through his body. He would never become half the man his father was, he was sure Luna knew that also. Cruelty for the sake of cruelty gave him no pleasure, only reminding him of the days he spent at the end of his father’s whip.

Yunho rolls up his sleeve and kneels between the trees. He pulls up his sleeve and counts the slew of straight scars that adorn his skin. Each give him a clear reminder of the funerals of his family. To bleed three drops of blood upon a family’s grave was to guarantee his family’s journey to the nine God’s safe. Yunho bumps his chest twice then lays a hand over his heart, muttering a short prayer to his parents, though his mother is the only he feels regretful for.

His father was a master of manipulation, cold and cunning as a snake. Yunho wonders what it is in him that made his sister speak such cruel words. Yes, when he’d taken the throne as barely a boy, he had been a different man.

His heart had been soft and he naïve. In the end, caring cost him far more than cynicism ever did. Yunho traces his hip under his shirt, the bite mark of his former friend cut through with silver to sever the bond. The day the person he thought he could trust turned his back for gold, to the South no less, the day he cut him from his pack. The wound took weeks to heal. It’s a painful memory, but a necessary one, the lesson engrained deep into his mind.

Trust only ever bought despair.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings: mentions of rape and torture

The walk back to the castle is long, and if Changmin’s honest, he would rather just die in the woods. But he feels a sliver of hope in the pit of his stomach that one day he will return to his home, stronger, faster, better. Perhaps this has just been a trial of his strength, and soon he will return to the South to lord over the castle when his eldest brothers travel the North.

Changmin is busy fantasizing about the pleasures of being referred to as a lord when something scuffles behind him. He looks over his shoulder and sees nothing, but then he hears the sound again and jumps straight to alert.

The rustle sends a chill down his spine. He grows his claws as long as possible without the danger of transforming to a wolf, the collar around his neck choking him as a reminder to never turn. He bares his teeth as the rustling gets closer.

Changmin freezes when he catches sight of what jumps from the bushes. It was neither a wild animal nor a person to be feared, but a lerrum. One that looked suspiciously like the lerrum he had taken care of as he was dragged to Central by Shim Messenger. Changmin edges forward, curiosity getting the better of him, and the lerrum does not seem afraid as it should be. It’s eyes are sharp and all seeing, and when Changmin gets close the little rodent scurries forward, digging claws into Changmin’s clothing and climbing him until he reaches his shoulder, settling down and using its wet nose to poke at Changmin’s ear.

Changmin huffs a short laugh, sitting on the grass, sticks poking into his thighs, and the lerrum climbs straight to his lap and curls into a tight ball. His heart swells. The lerrum must have imprinted on him and followed his scent, Changmin thinks with awe. He pats the matted fur, resolving to take the rodent to the lake when he could and to wash it down.

Changmin names it Siban after the Goddess of Fire, the little thing’s spirit strong.

 

With Siban tucked in his pocket now washed and fresh, Changmin wonders the street of the city, finally taking a good look around him. The division between the wealthy, the poor, common bloods, and wolves is immediately evident to him. Highbourne is split into three different sections, the middle class where the gate lets in, whom Changmin smells only humans, though they are fairly well dressed and housed. Some ways down on the right of the gate, a declining hill houses the poor, small shacks and houses made from rotting wood line the streets.

He recognises the town square and shudders, not staying for long at all but noticing the abundance of street vendors and small shops. As he walks through, children whisper things to each other and point to him, pulling at his shirt and watching with big eyes as he passes. The adults avoid his gaze. Changmin has no idea why. It wasn’t possible that he had become so known just from a single whipping. A great wall divides the common quarters with the high class town that smells only of wolves and cleanliness, much different to the acidity that hangs in the commoner’s quarter.

Changmin doesn’t want to enter, but he feels he has no choice. He has nowhere to stay, and he can’t sleep on the streets, especially not in the lower quarters where he imagines the crime would be awful. As much as he loathes to admit, he needs to ask help from Luna to at least pitch him a room to sleep, no matter how small. He imagines once again he’ll be put in the barracks, which at the moment doesn’t sound desirable seeing as he and Kyuhyun weren’t on the best of terms.

The guard looks to his clothes then to his feet and furrows his brow. The helmet shades his face and he gives a long, unsure nod, allowing Changmin to pass.

He wonders to the castle, receiving odd looks the whole way. It makes him nervous.

The greenery surrounding the entrance of the castle is so bright Changmin has the urge to shield his eyes. The doors are colossal, and it takes ten men to open them once Changmin has convinced the guard he is a slave of the King’s. It’s easier than he expects to enter.

He calls on a guard whom he asks to speak with Luna, and when the guard comes back, he informs Changmin that Luna is not available, and he shall speak with the King directly, as per his request.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, lips thinned. “I’d rather not be here,” Changmin says honestly.

Yunho gives him an amused look for his throne, lips quirked in more of a scowl than a smile. “I’m sure we both think the same. So? Why is it you came to me?”

“I didn’t come for _you,_ ” Changmin stresses. “I came for Luna.”

The King waves his hand. “I assure you the preference for Luna to take this conversation is mutual.”

Changmin holds his tongue, wanting to bite something rude, but keeping it in at the memories of the lashings. “I need to know of my… accommodations. I need somewhere to stay.”

Yunho smiles all teeth, canines grown and glinting. “It’s interesting how you suddenly care talk when you need something back from us. All those days in the carriage and you barely uttered a word, yet now you stand here boldly and demand my assistance. Even when Luna tried her best to comfort you, you shut her out as if she were a pest. People are selfish, Changmin, and you are no exception.”

“You brought me here without my consent,” Changmin snaps. “It’s the least you could do for me.”

Yunho gives him a searching look, his eyes narrowed into slits. “Was it so?”

Changmin twists his face up and wracks his brain for answers, straightening when what he’s thought from the start becomes clearest to him. Changmin was nothing if not clever. He’d had his suspicions, but now they had been confirmed. Yunho thinks he is a spy from the South.

Yunho’s gaze has turned feral, his face stony. “You said you were sent by your father, but why was that?”

Throat tight, Changmin snips, “because I cannot fight. In the South, a son without fight is nothing more than dust in the wind. I’m not here because I want to be, as you seem to think. I’m not a spy.”

Yunho’s laugh lacks humour. “Why, exactly what a spy would say.”

Yunho stands from his throne and slinks closer to Changmin, his movements sleek like a jaguar. Changmin thinks he would have been suited to the South. His gaze wonders to Changmin’s feet and he tuts. “Southerners.”

Yunho motions for a guard and points to Changmin’s bare feet. “Shoe him. I won’t have a simple _whore_ walking around as if he were a high born.” Yunho turns his gaze to Changmin now. “A wolf you may be, but your status as a whore comes first.”

The guards hurry to attend to his request, leaving the two alone. Changmin’s hackles raise.

“It appears as if no-one’s told you. Only those with importance have the luxury of wearing no shoes. To wear none is an insult to our pride. You should be thankful that I’m even bothering explaining it to you—I should have waited until you were pelted with rocks by the guards when they realised you were nothing but a whore.”

Changmin flinches at the thought of punishment.

A damp expression passes over Yunho’s face at his reaction.

Changmin visibly notices the way Yunho’s posture softens when they’re left alone. It’s an interesting observation, one he will think over when he has the time. To know ones enemy was to guarantee ones survival.

A guard comes back with two ill-fitting shoes and Yunho dismisses them, back straight.

Changmin kneels to the floor and fumbles with the laces, mouth contorting in a frown when he can’t remember the way his maids used to knot them.

Yunho readies to move then stops himself. “You’re fifteen and can’t even tie a shoelace?”

Changmin burns with embarrassment. “The servants did so. There was no need to learn.”

Changmin’s feels the King’s eyes on him as he struggles to tuck the laces in so in the least he won’t trip. He manages to get a semblance of a knot going on one foot before Yunho huffs a sharp sigh. “Move your hands,” he commands, leaning over his foot and rolling his fingers around the laces until one shoe is done, then the other.

Changmin can hardly believe his eyes.                                                    

Yunho stands tall as if he hadn’t just showed a moment of weakness by kneeling to Changmin’s level.

“Your brothers,” Yunho continues, “now two in the North if I recall. You being the second eldest at Avion, it strikes me to say it _odd_ that you would have been brushed aside, granted I could understand how a boy like you would be useless. Forgive me for my bluntness, boy, but you are a _liar._ ”

“I’m not lying!” Changmin almost pleads, voice cracking. “You think I chose to be a ragdoll for the King? You think I would choose a life where I was to be whipped naked in front of a crowd to the point that I lost my consciousness?”

“No,” Yunho says, “I don’t think so.

“Then—“

“I think your father chose that fate for you.”

Changmin tightens his lips. “you know nothing of my father.”

Yunho gives him an incredulous look. “Your father threw you here as a whore and yet you defend him still.”

“He is my blood.”

“Blood doesn’t always run thick,” Yunho says, face clouding.

“You know nothing of loyalty to family, then,” Changmin quips.

Yunho gives him a level look. ‘No, you can say I do not. Believe it or not, boy, family isn’t everything.’

“It is for me,” Changmin argues. “Didn’t your father teach you the meaning—“

“Silence,” Yunho booms, for the first time losing his composure completely in front of Changmin. He’s more out of control than he’s ever looked, but even so now is the time that Changmin has seen him look the most human. “Stay three steps behind and follow, I will show you to your sleeping quarters.” Yunho says nothing as he strides out the door, Changmin scurries to keep up, choosing to keep his mouth closed. More human he may have looked, but his humanity was still under question. Who knows what he would do while he’s angry, Changmin thinks.

He’s lead to a stable that smells terrible, dung and rotten hay overpowering his senses. Yunho grabs him by the bicep and Changmin struggles and tenses at the hold, breaths coming quicker. Yunho throw him to the hay and Changmin winces at the fall, crying out. Yunho raises a hand to slide closed the gate, but when he does Changmin mistakes the action and flinches. He lowers his hand slowly with an unreadable expression. “… Animals should sleep with one another, no?”

He closes the gate and Changmin longs to scream.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yunho sits at the head of the round table for dinner, chair luxurious in comparison to the wooden ones given to his council. On his left sits Jung Messenger, and on his right, Luna. Across from him sits Commander Luther. A man thick around the waist and face with skinny features and eyes bruised with spider webs of veins, he makes for an unpleasant sight. Still, he is who has commanded the armies since his father was still alive, and is skilled beyond that of the norm. His red beard wisps at only his chin, hairs tangled and long.

The table is decorated plainly, dark wood with a tree etched in the middle, a root spanning to each guest at the table. Yunho had it imported all the way from the East where the riches flowed and materials were grand. He feels blessed sitting at such a table—the core of his religion carved right to his dinner table. He takes the seat of Kuilahan, the God of Transcendence. His sister sits upon the Goddess of Fire, something that amuses Yunho to no end. He’s always thought of his sister like a ball of fire, fierce and burning with courage. Sir Luther sits as the God of Earth, resolve hard as the ground beneath his feet. The other elements, life, light, time, void, wind, and water, are taken by who he believes suits it best.

Luna keeps her eyes straight, not sparing a glance in Yunho’s direction. She rips into the pig that lays with an apple in its mouth at the centre of the table and chews it down, teeth clacking. They feast on honeyed potatoes, sweet figs, berries, stone fruit, and wheat bread, the meal prepared by Yunho’s handpicked chefs.

Frustrated at his sister, Yunho snaps, “I am not the one with closed eyes, Luna. You can ignore me however long you wish, it won’t change that the boy is clearly a rat.”

Luna cuts a fig, blood red juice spilling onto her fingers.

“I don’t want to argue about this,” Yunho says, frustrated. “The boy has somewhere to sleep for now. That should be enough.”

Luna pops a fig in her mouth, juice bursting and ripe. “And where have you put him up?”

Yunho hesitates then tells Luna when she cuts her eyes to him, expression hard. “The stables. He deserves what he gets.”

“Like you deserved getting hurt by our father for doing as _he_ said?”

Yunho holds back the flinch, aware of the company he’s in. He knows they can hear their whispered conversation, but he pays it no mind. They are the most trusted of his castle, and he would swear his life before saying one would betray what was said in privacy.

A laugh from Commander Luther breaks the silence. A great commander he is, but he lacks the manners of even the pig he consumes. Commander Luther sucks the pork from the bones, mouth slurping. He gulps down wine in large slugs and laughs merrily, teeth stained red.

“It appears Sir Luther has had too much wine, as any other night. Let me escort him to his chambers so he gets there in one piece this time,” Luna offers, drawing a laugh from the table.

“She’s a good woman,” Jung Messenger whispers, voice stealthy as usual.

Yunho has no doubt he’d heard their fight—Jung Messenger had ears that lined every wall of the castle, picking up the faintest of whispers done in the darkest of nights. His features are so unassuming Yunho thinks he could step just about anywhere and not alert a single soul.

“She has her own mind,” Yunho says, neither agreement nor disagreement.

Jung Messenger takes a careful sip of wine, letting it settle on his tongue before drinking it down. “We take care of those close to us.”

“Sometimes those closest to us are misguided.”

Jung Messenger smiles faintly, eyes facing forward. “Perhaps their thoughts are not ours to make.”

He doesn’t feel sorry for the boy, but a sudden guilt gnaws at his stomach. He trusts Jung Messenger’s words more than anyone, and if even he was trying to hint that his actions were wrong, he knew he’d gone much too far. He’d do what he could to make the boy comfortable, but he would not for a second place any amount of trust in him.

Yunho cracks the bone under his hold.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Kyuhyun finds Changmin the next morning at the stables, looking at the boy with watery eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, and Changmin’s still half asleep, eyes blurry and brain still a moment behind.

“I didn’t want to whip you or yell at you. I know I made it worse by hesitating. I know I was cruel to you and that I had no right to be but Changmin, I was—I _am_ worried. You’re young and you’ve come from money, and no matter how much you’d like to think you’ve seen the world from its arse to its head, you really haven’t.”

Changmin sits up and stares at Kyuhyun. “I get it. If I make noise I’m hit.”

“You don’t,” Kyuhyun insists, his eyes wild and voice taking on a twangy accent that Changmin has never heard before. “You’ve not had a single second of the shit I’ve been through or how the world works. Sitting up there in your fancy castle and wiping your ass with silk and cotton, do you really think you’ve got the slightest clue what they can do to boys like you and me? The skin off your back comes first, and that’s not the bad part, it’s the fear. The horrid fear that sinks you down where ever you go, and you have a _choice,_ Changmin. You can choose to keep your trap shut, but you don’t. I don’t understand why you would want to hurt yourself. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, really Kyuhyun, I understand.” Changmin thinks he does. He knows the feelings he’s been experiencing since the whipping are the results of his brain being damaged rather than the skin that covers him and heals at the drop of a pin.

Kyuhyun throws his hands in the air and grunts in the back of his throat. “Look. I’m from the West, and it looks to me like you haven’t a clue what it’s like for us back there. I know what it’s like to be whipped again and again just for letting the wrong word slip from your mouth. Your pretty eyes would roll back into your royal head of yours if you’d seen even _half_ the things I’d seen. You might think being a royal gives you some kind of insight to this world, kid, but you’ve got a lot of learning to do about this world if you’re still acting the way you are. It’s a fucking cruel world, and you haven’t seen an inch of a rats tail of it. It’s rotten--where someone will shove a knife down your throat just ‘cause it’ll get them a few dollars. A lord’s son should know something like this.”

“Then why does my back still hurt?” Changmin says, voice hard. He’s sick and tired of being called ignorant— _weak._

Kyuhyun’s face crumples and he drops to his knees, levelling himself with Changmin.

“I’m not saying it didn’t hurt. I’m saying you don’t know what it’s like to be hurt _every single day_ with no end in sight. You’re a slave now, and you have to act as one unless you want to know the fear that comes from being whipped until you’re a moment away from death, so many times that you can’t even count them anymore.”

Changmin feels tears build in his eyes for his companion. After one whipping he felt so awful it was like his chest was caving in on itself, and he can’t even imagine what it would be like to feel the constantly, never seeing an escape. “I’m sorry,” Changmin says. “I don’t understand.”

Kyuhyun gives a watery smile, eyes blinking furiously. “ _Good._ And let’s hope you never will. It’s a beautiful place here, Changmin, and there’s no need for you to hurt when you don’t have to. Even the slaves here are treated like they’ve got the sun shining out of their asses in comparison to how they did back home.”

Changmin presses his palms to his eyes and doesn’t let the tears fall. “How did you come to be in Crytor, then?”

Kyuhyun rubs his fingers together, thick and large. “Me and my family did a runner when I was just a twelve year old kid. I had my older sister, younger brother, mother and father try escape with me. I as smart for a kid—I remembered the pattern that the cocksuckers, the guards, used to keep to watch over us in the middle of the night. I finally figured out that if I escaped on a Tuesday at four in the morning when they switched guards, the skinny prick would be on duty and even I could push him out. The encampment was open and the fence this rickety little thing that would tumble over if a sheep nudged it, so we ran for the fence when my father smacked the guards head against a rock.

"We made it to the fence but—“ Kyuhyun takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I didn’t realise until we were yards away that my father and brother never made it passed the fence. They stayed to fight. My younger brother stayed and fought while I ran with my tail between my legs, not even sparing a glance back. We couldn’t go back for them. I doubted they were still alive at that point. If you’d be whipped just for something so simple as wasting a loaf of bread, you could imagine what they would do when they caught them trying to escape. So we ran and ran along the red dusted plains until we caught sight of ocean. We nearly died time and time again running there, the whole country a wasteland of desert, but when we made it a man with a silver beard and a cut over his left eye took us on board.

"He raped my mother and sister. They insisted it would be okay and they were fine, but I could see the way they threw up over the side of the boats when they thought no one was looking—the way they cried for the Gods to save them. When we reached land, fifteen year old sister was carrying a child of the sailors. Not a thing ever happened to me. I was ignored, and once again left everyone behind for my own sake. I still—I still regret not stepping in and trying to help, but I hadn’t a clue what I should’ve done. If I killed him, we’d be stranded at sea with no idea of where to go. Maybe my sister and mother would’ve preferred it.

"Before we could even settle down as a family and my mother give birth to her child, the Reapers came from door to door and pressed a locket of silver against my hand. It burned. I was a wolf. The malnutrition had held my transformation that should have happened delayed my wolf, and I had never laid a fat finger on a piece of silver in my life. I was a Fresh Blood. Not a single person in my family had any wolf in them—it was a nasty shock. The Reapers took me by my arms and dragged me off to Highbourne, away from Central where we decided to camp until we could sort ourselves out. They had me join the army at only thirteen. I haven’t seen my family since.”

Kyuhyun looks into the distance, his eyes blurred like he’s lost in the memories playing like a broken record in his mind. Changmin’s heart aches. He reaches for Kyuhyun and wraps his fingers around his hand, squeezing tight. Kyuhyun startles from his reverie and looks to Changmin with eyes so haunted they seem hollow.

“One day I’ll bring you back to your family,” he promises.

Kyuhyun just smiles like he doesn’t believe him, but appreciates the thought. But Changmin will, Changmin _can._ He’s got Luna on his side, and the mind to make even the worst of them all, Yunho, cave to him.


	9. Idk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> basically im an asshole so my bad.  
> also sorry for the delay!! I was busy trying to find work and didn't have time to write. also, really short chapter, just to get back into the swing of things.

Changmin holds his hand to the door, candle in the other—the heat burning his nose right to his lungs when he breathes. He’s nervous, terrified, for what’s about to come, but he knows it’s his only chance of gaining trust. If he keeps his head down and acts like the whore he’s supposed to be, maybe one day his chance to escape would come, then he could go back home. He could even help Kyuhyun if he could warm himself to Luna enough. He’s not sure why, but he knows she has some kind of affinity for him.

The guard standing by the door gives him a suspicious look, as if wondering why Changmin won’t just enter the room already. But Changmin needs time to steel himself. He doesn’t want to go to bed with the King, that much he’s sure of, but he needs to go home. He’s willing to do anything to find a way back to his mother, and even though he hated them with a passion, his siblings. The distance had made him miss them no matter how cruel they were to him, and it confused him because he’d never thought for a second he would want to see their faces again.

Changmin takes a deep breath and finally raises his hand high and knocks on the wood three times, eyes downcast when the door creaks open. There’s a silence and Changmin looks up to see the King staring down at him with a troubled expression.

“May I come in?” he asks, voice shaky.

The King steps back in invitation and Changmin walks in on legs so wobbly they feel like jelly. The room is well lit, and Changmin is awed by the size. He has a clear view of the moon from the window, and the pale light is bright for the first time since the last Full moon six months ago. The moon was unpredictable, but Changmin could tell it would wane to fullness within the week, and the Lunar festival would start.

Changmin places his candle on the bedside and walks to Yunho, keeping his breathing even and steady to calm himself. Yunho simply stands in the middle of the room, tracing Changmin with his sharp eyes with every movement he makes. Changmin takes one last deep breath and stops in front of the man, only now noticing quite how big he was. Not only was he tall in height, but his shoulders were broad and chest well-muscled. Changmin knew how easily his thin form would be overtaken by the older man, but if he were not prepared for such he wouldn’t have come.

He lifts his hands and shakily undoes the first button on Yunho’s shirt, fingers dropping to the next. He doesn’t lay his eyes upon Yunho until the shirt is open, scarred, tanned skin before him. He traces the wounds with his eyes with a brief flash of sympathy, only able to guess how much each of these would hurt. He curbs it quickly, the reminder of the whip stinging his back all too fresh.

He counts to three and looks up at Yunho with wide, innocent eyes, waiting for direction. Yunho runs his hands over Changmin’s body in an odd way, more as if he’s searching than trying to feel. He stares down at the boy for an immeasurable amount of time, and Changmin turns hot under his gaze, unused to being looked at so openly.

Yunho strides to his bed and lounges back on it, back propped up on his cushions. He says nothing for a minute then curtly orders, “remove your clothes.” Yunho’s jaw is straining and Changmin shivers under his gaze.

Changmin pulls off his shirt, whole body shivering with nerves, then hooks his fingers into his pants. It’s all very clinical, and before he knows it, he’s standing naked before the King of Crytor, burning with shame and confusion. His stomach feels warm, and while it’s not an unfamiliar feeling, it’s the first time he’s felt it in company of another. The different emotions are bubbling all in his blood, and he doesn’t know if he wants to run, stay, or deny the King his pleasures.

Yunho lays upon the bed, his shirt still open, and motions for Changmin to come closer. He does so with laboured breaths, the closer he gets the more he panics, the more real it feels.

“Sit,” the King orders, and Changmin does on the side of the bed. Yunho sits up and pulls him forcefully onto the bed so he now is laying down, Yunho above him. The King grabs his hands and holds them together with one hand, looking down at him.

“You remind me of a brother I had.”

Changmin’s breath hitches.

“He was killed when he was your age by bandits on his travels to the East.” He says it with a twisted smile like he knows Changmin has heard the rumours surrounding his brother’s death. “Luna’s soft on you because of it. Maybe I have been, too. The day you struck me I should’ve sent you to your death, but I didn’t. I punished you as I would punish a Common Blood for stealing.” He reaches out a hand and thumbs Changmin’s cheekbone, brushing it over so lightly it tickles. “So young and yet your father sends you away, halfway across the country in my arms so readily. Why would he choose you?”

Changmin swallows as the hand traces down his neck and to his collarbone, the slightest bit of nail scratching—not painfully. “Because I was born weak. I—“ he jolts when Yunho traces his fingers up the side of his neck to his ear. “I was taken away when I couldn’t kill the game my father wanted me to.”

“Why not?”

“They had done nothing wrong.”

The words hang heavy in the air and Yunho pauses the tracing of his fingers. “How would you know they haven’t?”

“Even so,” Changmin says, “they didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Who are you to decide that?”

Changmin holds his breath and says, “and who are _you?_ ”

The King’s eyes light up with anger. He pulls on Changmin’s wrists with one hand and pins them above his head, throwing one leg over Changmin and straddling him at the waist. He leans close so his breath is fanning Changmin’s face, lips inches away from his own. Changmin isn’t sure what to feel, and he squirms, trying to escape. The King holds him down tighter as he struggles, weight warm on top of him.

“I,” Yunho says with venom lacing his words, “am your _King._ ”


	10. Rot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things happen

The King waits above Changmin, waiting for him to back down, but Changmin refuses. He meets his eyes then spits right in his face, landing on his cheek. Yunho reels back and scrapes the spit with the back of his hand, furious. He holds his hand over Changmin’s collar as if he wants to strangle him, but puts no pressure on the hold, instead digging his fingernails into his bared neck and letting the puncture wounds bleed over the tips of his fingers.

“Why did you come here?” he demands, voice low and in control.

Changmin keeps his lips shut. Anything he will say he knows will be taken as a lie anyway.

“Why did your father send you to me? Is he looking to ensure the deal goes well, or is there something more going on?”

When Changmin doesn’t speak, Yunho raises a hand in warning, ready to bring it down against his cheek. Changmin is terrified of the pain. He doesn’t want to be hurt again for something that’s not his fault. He doesn’t want to be punished again for being weak hearted. He hates himself for it, but a single tear drops from the corner of his eye, wetting his ear. He can’t stop once he starts, and while he doesn’t make any noise, the tears don’t stop coming. He wants to wipe them away but instead he stares into the King’s eyes, trying to get through the him his innocence. Changmin is just a year off being an adult, but he’s still a child, he’s still young and he can’t handle this no matter how hard he tries.

He can’t handle being thrust into a completely different world, with new people, new rules, new traditions, new status… he hates it so much he wishes he could’ve just died on the way here. He wants to go home and sit amongst the trees. He longs with every ache in his bones to be back in his clearing, pants rolled up and feet dipped in the pond. He misses running as a wolf, his senses keen and alert, his emotions tired down by the freedom of the animal within.

But he can’t do anything, because he’s just a whore now with a chain around his neck.

Yunho looks surprised by the tears and his hold loosens. He simply stares at Changmin with confusion written all over his face, clearly expecting more defiance, but Changmin doesn’t have any left to give. He’s _tired._ His head aches and his blood’s turned stale.

Changmin yanks his hands away from Yunho’s grip and the older man lets him. He pushes Yunho off without much force but the King backs away, sitting off him and staring as Changmin reclothes himself, this time without any heat. Finally as Changmin is fully clothed again, Yunho opens his mouth and asks with genuine curiosity, “why are you crying?”

“Because,” Changmin says, looking back, “you may be a King to your people, but you are certainly not mine.”

Changmin half expects to be pinned against the wall and hurt until his skin bleeds again, but Yunho lets him leave. He says nothing and Changmin’s out the door, and finally the tears come in full. Ugly sobs rip from his chest as he stumbles away, where, he’s not sure. He doesn’t even a bed to keep him warm. He finds a dark spot and lays his back against the wall, letting himself fall and sit, head tucked between his knees. He doesn’t bother wiping away the tears as he cries, because right now he doesn’t care. If he looks weak, then so be it. Maybe he is, but Changmin had never heard a weak man to have gone through what he had and kept it together for so long. Changmin is strong, but not in the way his brothers and father were. He’s not strong in muscle of in brute, but he a resolve plated with the finest of steels.

Changmin’s head snaps up when he hears someone coming. _Luna,_ he thinks, when he catches her scent. He curls in on himself even tighter. Her steps fall heavy and he knows even before seeing her face contorted in rage that she’s furious. She strides up to him, candles flickering and almost dying as she rushes past. She kneels in front of Changmin and takes hold of his shoulders, looking down at him with a seriousness he has never placed from her before.

“Did he hurt you?” she snaps, only succeeding in scaring Changmin further. She seems to realise her mistake and visibly softens, her brow smoothing and voice shifting to a slow, like water sliding down rocks. “What did he do?”

“No,” Changmin whispers, keeping his eyes trained to the floor. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Why are you crying then, Changmin? You can tell me the truth.”

Changmin looks to her eyes and blinks away the tears, shaking his head. “He did nothing. Nothing at all. I offered myself to him, but did nothing except ask me questions.”

Luna stares at him, an unreadable expression blanking her face. The night is warm and the insects cry, their chips sounding through the open windows.

Eventually, Luna sags.

“I’m not lying,” Changmin says one more time, unsure if he’s defending his honour or the King’s.

Luna takes his hand in hers and strokes her thumb over the back of her hand. “I know. I can hear it in your voice and your heart. It didn’t skip a beat.”

Changmin lets himself be pampered by Luna and then says in a quiet voice, “why will he not believe me when my heart stays steady?”

Luna looks at him with sad eyes, the candles above flickering orange on her dark irises like a shooting star against the black night. “There are some who are trained to lie to wolves. Yunho won’t trust the South, but I have enough _decency_ to realise not everyone born of the Southern blood is a savage.”

“And you don’t think I’m one of them?”

“No,” Luna affirms. “I do not think you are. Those who are trained take decades to reach the level needed to keep their heart steady when they lie. We call them Shadows. I have never met one myself, but I have heard the stories. They can be your most trusted ally and you would never for a moment guess they could turn around and bury a dagger in your back. They are impossible to place and, thankfully, rare. You my child,” she rubs his fingers through his hair and smiles, “are far too young to know such a skill. I, unlike my brother, can use logic.”

Despite the heavy situation, Changmin can’t help but let out a small bark of laughter. The sound is foreign to him after all this time, and the thought makes him sad again. Luna seems to pick up on his mood and sits next to him, her back touching the wall. She throws and arm over his shoulder and pulls his head into her chest, holding him tight. Her arms are warm and feel similar to those of his mother, and Changmin melts into the contact. After so long, his body is starved and crying for any kind of attention that doesn’t inflict pain. Luna is kind and understand, and now Changmin knows why she cares for him so much. It sends shots of pain through his heart to know she was hurt so badly by her brother’s when all she ever did was treat Changmin with kindness. Changmin thinks she doesn’t deserve it—he also thinks he doesn’t deserve the fate he was given, but he realises that despite what they deserve they need to keep on moving.

Luna allows Changmin to sleep next to her on the bed that night. She sleeps as her wolf and tucks her snout into Changmin’s arm. While Changmin feels weak, he understands his tears are not what make him so.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning when Changmin awakes, he startles to see Luna has left and in a chair across the room, Yunho sits. He looks… odd in his bedclothes. It seems that someone so royal should wear something more according to their status, but Yunho sits there with blue silk slacks and a shirt that’s well worn. It doesn’t quite compute in Changmin’s brain, both the clothes and _why_ The King would be here, of all places while Luna was not.

“Wake up and be dressed and in my quarters within five minutes. I have something to show you.” He rises from his chair and slams the door, and Changmin can hear him stride down the hall. Changmin tries to wrap his mind around what’s happening, but he doesn’t want to be late so he tries not to dwell and throws on his clothes. His heart sinks when he thinks of the horrible possibilities that could be waiting for him in Yunho’s chambers, especially after what he said last night. He curses himself for not being careful enough.

His slave clothes back on, he stumbles through the halls, still half awake and blurry. Yunho is waiting outside his bedroom by the time Changmin makes it there, expression hard but not angry. It’s a confusing look, one that Changmin can’t quite read, but he doesn’t think he’s in trouble.

Yunho leads them down the hall, still on the same floor, and takes him to a lavish bedroom. The bedsheets are gold and red, and suit the rest of the same coloured room. The floor is even carpeted, something Changmin rarely sees. It’s wide and open, and within it sits a comforting looking couch that he longs to lounge himself on after his tough night. At first, he’s scared Yunho will proposition him, but he soon realises that’s not at all what they’re here for. Yunho swipes a hand across his mouth and sighs heavily.

“This is where you will sleep from this day forward.”

Changmin short circuits. “Am I… am I to lie here with you?” he asks, just in case.

Yunho gives him a disgusted look. “You’re hardly even a man, why would I wish to lie with you in bed?”

Changmin turns bright red and holds a remark that he’s one season’s pass of being a man. “Why?” he eventually asks, trying to wrap his head around the situation. Just yesterday he was being pushed into bed roughly, unclothed and threatened, and now suddenly Yunho was giving him a _bed_ to lie in? And not just any bed, a royals bed?

Yunho look at him with sharp eyes, just for a second. He backs out the door and says, “It’s the least I could give you,” and disappears before Changmin can say anything else.

“I’m sorry,” Luna says, arms crossed and back leaning against the wall, foot propped up. “I’m sorry for saying the things I did. I should’ve known you were nothing like our father but Yunho, I was mad. No—I wasn’t just mad, I was _scared._ ”

Yunho stops by her and gives her an understanding look. “You’ve no need to apologise, sister. I…” he trails off, and Luna knows he doesn’t want to admit he was wrong. “I don’t trust the child still. There’s something about him that I can’t quite place that’s wrong but I have a feeling he’s not who I thought he was. Last night when I cornered him, I heard him cry and…” he can’t finish he sentence, dropping off and giving Luna a searching glance.

She nods, understanding her brother without him having to say anything. She knows he’s sorry for treating the boy so harshly, but refuses to say it. It’s in his blood to be proud, and she knows he’s been this way ever since he was a child. Luna places a hand on her brother’s shoulder.

“You are not your father, and you _will_ treat him with respect,” she enforces, sure to get her message across.

Yunho nods and looks out the window, fingers gripping the sill and nails digging into the wood. He looks back at Luna and says, “the festival should start tomorrow. The moon’s not two weeks from reaching its completion and we haven’t set up a thing.”

“You’ve been busy,” Luna reasons. And he has. Along with Heechul hounding Yunho from the North for the white wolf girl that lays in their prisons, the crops are dying and land turning to something like ash. The trees sag and when it rains they don’t suck up the water as they used to, as if rejecting their nourishment. It leaves a dark feeling in Luna’s chest. Never in her ages has she seen the world shrink so much as it has in the last year. The smell is changing, and not in the way it does when a new season arrives, but in a horrid, stinking way.

The world smells like it is _rotting._

The whole thing leaves all the wolves on edge—the common folk unable to smell the difference, but the farmers can see their plants wilting. It’s no cause for comfort, but it’s all the more reason they must hold the festival to bring up the wolves spirits.

“What will we do with the prisoners? Shall we line the doors with mountain ash the night before the moon strikes?”

“They’ll tear each other apart,” Yunho says and Luna furrows her brow.

“Since when have you ever _cared?_ ”

Yunho looks back at her with a complicated expression. Luna knows that even _he_ isn’t sure why his heart is suddenly melting, but Luna has a very good clue.

“We have to save the ones we still have. We may have a war on our hands soon and we need every last wolf to fight for us.”

Luna frowns, her confusion melting onto her face. “A war?”

“I couldn’t say it for certain,” Yunho whispers, “but something is not right, and you feel it also.”

She nods slowly. “I feel it.”

Yunho rubs his face and smooths his brow with his thumb. “Something is coming,” he says gravely, “and we best be prepared.”


	11. The Feast

The Lunar festival shined a bright beacon over the already fertile land. The courtyards were covered from tree to building with red and yellow decorations, making the land look sunny even during night. Baubles holding candles flickered in the pale moonlight as children and adults alike stood outside and stared at the moon, awaiting the moment it would bloom and they could run free and release their inner wolves.

There was something about transforming against one’s will on the night of the full moon that sent shivers of excitement down werewolves’ backs. On a regular day, the non-human side of them had to be cooped away as it was deemed uncouth and uncivilised, part of the reason they had thrown away the titles real wolves had used, like the alpha and renamed it as something more human—a Lord. The true alpha was named King.

Curbing their inner wolf turned some people mad and they ran away in the middle of the night and joined the forests, never to be seen again, but most were happy to embrace their human side. It was well known that humans would always try and push themselves away from anything that made them seem lesser—like an animal. They were werewolves, but they were _not_ animals, they liked to think.

Changmin stares out his bedroom window at nights and watches as the moon ducks and weaves between clouds, its weak mist shining through and warming the land. In the South, the Lunar festivals were controlled and often ignored for bigger issues, only small celebrations happening between wolves, and gifts being passed between hands.

It was a pleasant change to see the holiday so embraced. He waits until two nights before the full moon, the day of the feast and dance, lip caught between teeth, wondering what would become of him now he was collared. Would they throw him in jail again and let him trash in his own cell while they got to run free? Would he be allowed out? He doubts it, but it’s nice to think.

Siban noses at his ankle and climbs up his trousers, settling on his shoulder. Changmin gives the Lerrum a scratch and let out a small laugh. “You sure know when I’m not feeling well, don’t you?”

Siban squeaks and pokes out its little tongue, licking the side of Changmin’s face and making him giggle.

“Perhaps they’ll let me transform and die,” Changmin says, voice hollow and dreary. “I couldn’t see why they wouldn’t—I’ve been nothing but a burden to them. The King has given me this room, for Kuilahan’s sake. Maybe they wish to pamper me before they slaughter me.” He gives a weak laugh. “But who will look after you if I’m gone?”

Siban makes a soft dejected sound, like she knows exactly what Changmin is talking about. It gives him comfort to speak to Siban, though he knows she cannot hear. He doesn’t have an awful lot of people to speak to, and while Kyuhyun is his friend, Changmin doesn’t particularly want to share his inner feelings with the boy.

Changmin tucks himself into bed when the moon is far behind dark clouds filled to the brim with thunder and rain and no longer shines, leaving a sheet of darkness covering the land. The excitement of the festival looms high even for a slave boy, and sleep does not come easy that night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The day before the full moon the whole of Highbourne is buzzing, children of wolves running through the square and taunting each other, playing games that adults would never have the stamina to join. It’s an odd mix of cold in the shade and hot in the sun, and Changmin decides he doesn’t quite like the feeling. He’d never experienced the sensation of such a mix of weathers in the South, used to either the blistering heat during Sunder or the chilling cold in Freeze.

Despite his earlier worries, Changmin feels warm and protected in the hum of the crowd.

He makes his way to the feast, chest soaring in delight as he thinks of all the delicious foods he will be allowed to consume, just a slave boy, for being a wolf.

The tent where the feast is held is sprung high from the ground, the royal colours and banners slicked on the fabric, the howling wolves painted on each direction.

Changmin halts when he spots Victoria outside the tent, his mouth spreading into a wide grin. Shyly, he walks over to her and says her name. She rounds on him and her face splits in a big grin. “Changmin. How is your wound healing?”

“It healed within the hour,” Changmin says, stomach fluttering and feeling light.

There’s a brief awkward silence between the two, then Victoria breaks it with a shy smile. “Will you show me to a seat? It’s awfully crowded and I wouldn’t want to trip.”

Changmin nods hastily before he remembers she cannot see, then takes her arm in his. She’s delicate and her skin is soft, and Changmin keeps himself from moving closer.

They take a seat near the front after whirling through the crowds, Changmin not wanting to let go of his lady’s arm, and before Changmin can realise it’s close to the King, Victoria is already seated, hand holding Changmin’s arm as if in askance of him to sit. Changmin does so without complaint, and within moments of his seating, chefs from left and right dressed in white with stains of food running down their clothes come baring silver platters.

They place platter after platter in front of each bench table, and reveal them with a fancy flick of the wrist. Before they can touch their food and dig in, the King enters the tent from the back, striding up to his seat, Luna hot on his heels. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at his luxurious chair, instead, holding a goblet of wine for a servant to fill. The servant is a young boy, maybe twelve, and his hands shake. Yunho says nothing when a drop spills to his wrist and stains his skin.

“Wolves of Highbourne, we have gathered here today to celebrate the annual rising of our moon. Shall we always remember Kuilahan and the eight gods and goddesses who allow us to enjoy this feast with pleasure.” He raises his glass and everyone in the hall picks up their goblet and raises it together. Changmin stays still. He refuses to raise a hand to Yunho, no matter how much he respects his Gods.

Yunho’s eyes sweep over the room, and for a moment, Changmin swears he sees the King’s eyes stop at him and the corner of his lip curl up. He shakes his head and dispels the thought, thinking he would only be in trouble if the King really had caught his display of rebellion.

Yunho takes a long sip of his wine and raises his chin, staring to the roof for a moment before lowering his gaze back down. “As I have heard, there has been… disquiet within the community. The crops are having trouble bearing seed, and the land smells of something we do not know, however I can assure you there is no reason to be worried.” Changmin hears Yunho’s heartbeat falter for a second. “We are using the best of our abilities to make sure you will live comfortably. Now, that the dark talk is over, we shall dine. For Kuilahan,” he says, and the room chants it back.

Changmin immediately digs into the food, his mouth watering as the meat he puts in dissolves in just a moment, it’s so tender. He makes an offhand comment to Victoria about the food and she mumbles something back.

Changmin can’t think of anything to say, and it seems neither can Victoria. It’s awkward and Changmin feels horribly embarrassed, but one thing springs to mind that he can ask. He would rather no one other than Victoria to come with him tonight to the ball, awkward as it may be. He takes a long moment of courage to pluck himself up to the task, but when he does, he stumbles over his words.

“W-will you come to the dance with me tonight?” Changmin stutters, face blooming redder than the peonies that line the castle.

Victoria’s face turns bright red at the question and her lips quiver for a moment before she wisps out, “of course.”

When he looks to the King, an odd sensation falls heavy in his gut. He likens it to something akin to guilt, but knows that can’t be the case, because why would he feel guilt towards the King?

 

 

Changmin wanders the streets of the city, eyes bulging wide. He never had expected to see the commoners and the wolves get along, but they all wandered the town halls and bought from commoners as if it were such a normal thing to do—as if the classes weren’t horribly divided.

Changmin did notice the commoners expressions were bitterer than usual, and figured it would have something to do with only the wolves being allowed to feast while they had to starve for weeks after just for the supplies to run ample for the wolves.

Changmin has a small amount of money that Kyuhyun had given to him with a kind smile, asking Changmin to buy something nice for himself while the occasion was there. Changmin had asked if Kyuhyun didn’t need it himself, and Kyuhyun had laughed and said, “got no one to buy anything for, do I? I saw you talking to that lady at the feast, buy her something nice.”

Changmin’s emotions had coiled but he resolved to buy something back for the boy with the money given to him as a token of his gratitude. It was the least that Changmin could do for him.

He stops at an open stall, the smell of fresh fruit bursting right on his tongue. He feels the lump in his pocket jiggle and he shushes Siban, hoping she won’t climb out and make a run for it while it was this busy, knowing the likelihood she would be injured, or worse, _killed,_ if she ran off by herself.

A wicked looking lady welcomes him in coldly, her one eye and harrumphing when another customer left and touched a piece of fruit without paying. She’s a hag, Changmin decides, but he wants to buy something juicy for Kyuhyun to eat, so he bears her stare and wanders down through the stall, stopping at a crate of red ripe cherries.

They smell so fragrant that Changmin’s mouth waters just standing at a distance. Before he knows it, Siban has wiggled herself out from his pocket and launched into the bale of cherries, snatching a cherry and chewing it hastily, the fruit gone within seconds. Changmin tries to catch Siban, but she dodges his hands and yanks a trail of cherries with her munching and biting. The hustle attracts the attention of the shop keeper, and he hobbles over, face wrinkled into a big frown.

“THEIF!” she screeches when he lays eyes on the pips of the cherries that surround Changmin.

“No, ma’am, please, I—“

Changmin can’t get a word in edgeways as the lady screams and rattles on, calling him a long list of nasty things that Changmin’s sure he’s never even heard before. She’s drowned out soon, though.

A long horn blows and the sound of marching comes closer. The commoners and even the wolves stand rapt at attention, eyes all glued the direction the sounds are coming from. The horn blows three times, wailing low then high.

A carriage of gold and brown wheels through the quarters, the horses pulling it are white with splotches of black around their hooves. Changmin squints, and on the top of the carriage he sees Luna, and below her, Yunho, as was custom to have the highest ranking female of the family above the highest ranking male. It was no secret that women held the grace of the wolf better than men, transforming at an earlier age and controlling their abilities far before. Women of the royal family were considered the first children of the moon.

Luna wears long earrings that dangle to her shoulders, touching the top of the leather dress. The front is adorned with studs of silver and crosses her chest from her shoulders to her waist, dropping to a fur skirt that leads right to her ankles—the coats of enemies that had fallen in battle.

Yunho is bare chested with a vest of wolfs fur and pants of tight leather, a stripe of paint straight from edge of his eye down to his jaw.

The only person who doesn’t stop in awe to stare at the royal family surrounded by tonnes of guards is the wicked lady who points to the King and shouts for his attention. Luna whispers something to Yunho and they share a heated glare before Yunho lifts his chin ever so slightly and lowers himself from the carriage.

He wanders closer to Changmin and Changmin goes cold as stone. If he was to be accused of stealing, who knew how he would be treated by the King? He almost cries at the thought of the whip sliding and flaying his flesh, but he keeps himself together long enough for the King to be standing in front of him.

“You, again,” Yunho says, eyes narrowed. His arms are crossed behind his back, showing nothing but absolute confidence in his ability to defend himself should someone try to attack. “What seems to be the issue?”

“The runt stole from me! He stole a whole bunch of cherries from my basket and gobbled them before my eyes!”

Changmin tries to protest, but the King holds up his hand. “Is this true?” he asks.

Changmin stares with fire. “It is _not_.”

Yunho stares back in challenge and waits for Changmin to back down. When he never does, Yunho doesn’t take his eyes off of him as he speaks to the crook lady. “I shall see to his punishment myself.”

Though Changmin’s stomach curls and doubles over, he doesn’t let the emotions run through his expression, holding them tight to his chest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Yunho leads Changmin to his castle and takes him to the throne room, dismissing all his guards besides Sir Luther, his most trusted man. For what he is about to do, there was no saying what could happen, though he would like to keep the matter private. Sir Luther holds a large instrument for cutting which Yunho sees Changmin eye with both fear and suspicion. Yunho could imagine why.

Yunho doesn’t bother sitting and instead stands in front of Changmin, so close his breath catches on the boy’s hair.

“I know you were innocent for that petty… _crime_ you were said to have committed at the markets. I can hear the coins in your left pocket, and in your other the little animal you so often carry. A lerrum, was it?” He runs his fingers down his neck, scratching the skin and sighs. “Many things you are, Shim Changmin, but a thief is not one. I’ve instead come to discuss other matters with you. I’ve come to realise I’ve been… less than hospitable with you, though I’m sure you can understand why, Southerner.”

Confusion ripples through the boy’s expression, then his eyes flash. “Spoken like a true man from Central, if that’s what you would call an apology for having me _whipped_ so many times I could hardly walk after.”

Yunho grits his teeth. The boy clearly could never quite know what was good for him and when to shut his mouth.

“I’ve given you a bedroom to make amends.”

Changmin looks incredulous then scoffs. “ _That’s_ why you gave me my own chambers? To buy an apology? I’m sorry, _Yunho,_ but as much as you think it may, that will not suffice for an apology.”

Yunho gets shivers down his spine, hearing the boy say his name for the first time. He can’t decide if its anger or something else he is feeling. “What more could you want?” he asks, truly baffled. He’d given from the goodness of his heart an apology lined with silver and gold, and yet the boy still complained?

“I want you to say the words, tell me you’re sorry.” The boy looks as if he’s not sure what’s come over him, saying such words, but he holds his ground and Yunho has to respect him an inch for that.

“No,” Yunho says bluntly.

“You cannot _buy_ forgiveness. I knew you were King, but I never knew you to be an ignorant.”

Yunho raises his hand to slap the boy, body curling in anger, but stops when Changmin flinches and remembers he’s supposed to be here to make peace. He still believes Changmin is less than innocent in this whole matter, but he realises he can’t keep him cooped up in a cage by his side until the day he dies. If anything, treating the boy with kindness would get him to open up, and perhaps if he could manipulate Changmin well enough to hate the South, he could have a powerful ally on his side who knew the ins and outs of the castle.

Yunho stares down at him and takes another step closer, so close their chests are touching, and Yunho grabs the hair on the back of his head and tilts Changmin’s face upwards. “You do _not_ speak like that to a King. And you wonder why you were whipped so many times you could not stand, is because your mouth does not know its place.”

“It should just be sucking the King’s cock then, shouldn’t it?”

Yunho growls and pushes Changmin away, turning back to Sir Luther and gesturing for him to come closer. “Cut him free for the full moon, Sir Luther.”

Luther gives a grunt and goes forward, already drunk as a skunk, and chops away at the collar harshly, catching Changmin’s skin several times. The lerrum squeaks from Changmin’s pocket, wriggling all around and trying to escape, but Changmin holds it still Yunho says nothing. Changmin just glares at him the whole time, and something flushes through Yunho’s body.

Once he’s free, Yunho says, “Enjoy the ball, and if you run, I _will_ kill you the next time I lay eyes on you. And believe me, I have powerful allies.”

“Thank you,” Changmin says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Sir Luther grabs his arm to escort him out, and Changmin shakes himself off. “I’ll leave myself.”

Yunho watches him walk out the door with narrowed eyes and a strained heart, Changmin’s words rushing through his mind.


	12. Heechul of the North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry it's so short and it's been ages since I've updated, I had terrible writers block and it was killing all my inspiration for this story. gladly I now have it back and will be back to regular updates :)

Jung Messenger announces himself as the night is turning dark and weary, and the jitters of the full moon can be felt right in Yunho’s blood. It simmers and rages beneath the surface of his skin, like throwing oil to a fire.

“Lord Heechul is here to see you,” Jung Messenger says with a bow, waiting for instruction.

Yunho sits up in surprise. “So soon?”

“He said it could not wait.”

Yunho rubs a hand over his skin, knowing neither he nor Heechul will be in their right minds to discuss politics. Though it was never in Heechul’s nature to have good timing. “Very well, bring him to my chambers. Alone. I need not a guard for an old friend.”

“Of course, My King.” Messenger scurries back with Heechul in tow and Yunho cannot help the smile that lights up his face at the sight of him.

Heechul Vecht is beautiful as ever, face ethereal and pretty like a woman’s, eyes wild and clear. His long orange hair lights like a candle, glowing in the bright night. His skin is pale as death and lips as red as ruby. As ever, he presents immaculately, his face drowning in layers of make-up and in fiery red robes that turn his already pale skin to ash.

“My King, Yunho,” Heechul greets, grinning. His teeth are sharp and lips thin.

Yunho stands and dismisses his messenger, stepping towards Heechul. As the door swings shut behind and they are left alone, the Lord takes a step forward into Yunho’s space and kisses him on the cheek with delicacy. Yunho allows it when Heechul puts his hands on his face and studies him over from hair to chin.

“As handsome as ever, you are. You’ve still got those eyes my friend, but you seem…” Heechul backs away and taps a finger to his lip, smearing the lipstick, “different.”

“It’s the full moon as you well know.”

Heechul circles Yunho like a hyena to it’s pray. “No, there’s something else. Something…” Heechul’s eyes light up and a feral grin takes it’s place. “Perhaps the King has found a lady?”

Yunho barks a laugh. “Luna wishes, but no. There hasn’t been a single lady that could keep my interest.”

Heechul takes a seat on Yunho’s bed and crosses his legs, the red garment spreading like wings. “Perhaps since we both know your interests lie in another gender. Though it is high time you found a woman to share your bed at night, regardless of whether you care for her or not. Look at my wife, Kuilahan knows why I married the wench, but she brings me child after child, son after son. We’re expecting our fourth come the next season.”

“And how is your family? It’s been an age since I’ve seen them.”

Heechul gives Yunho a considering look, tilting his head. “Yes, it seems ever since my brother Yolan married Iliyah Shim from the South you’ve become somehow distant. They have born their first child, a daughter. She and mine are inseparable these days—it reminds me of when we were younger. I still think it a shame our families couldn’t be married, your sister after all was due to marry Yolan before she passed—“

“Before she was killed by a Southerner.” Yunho bares his teeth. As much as he loves Heechul as his dearest friend, the tension between them when it came to their relations with the South always hit a sore spot.

Heechul sighs and looks sad, a marring look on his perfect face. “Yes, it was a horrible tragedy.”

“And then you married Yolan off to a Southerner, a _Shim_ of all people.”

The night air blows cold through the window and Yunho steps closer, heat in his veins. Heechul merely stares up at him in invitation.

“Now,” Heechul drawls, “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“You certainly didn’t come here for a fuck.”

They stare each other down, the earlier friendliness frosting over like ice on a lake. Heechul stands and moves closer to Yunho, each step of his bare feet slapping on the stone. He leans close, his lips brushing the shell of Yunho’s ear making him shudder. “No, I did not,” he enunciates. He presses a light kiss to Yunho’s lips and when Yunho doesn’t respond to his invitation, Heechul steps back.

“If I hear correctly, you have yourself a pet. A Shim, of all people.” Heechul’s eyes glow dangerously and Yunho straightens his back.

“A gift from the Southern Lord.”

Heechul’s voice drops from its usual high lilt to a dangerous flat tone he only ever uses when he’s angry. “Tell me, Yunho, does he bite? Does he howl when you fuck him, or does he cry?”

Yunho’s hackles raise and his fists curl. “I do not sleep with the boy. He is only fifteen.”

Heechul quiets and stares into Yunho’s eyes, searching. The sound of drums banging is heard through the window—the eager celebration of the wolves getting louder by the minute. Crickets chirp and wolves amongst howl, the curtains blowing in the singing wind. “Oh,” Heechul says. “Oh, I see.”

“See what?” Yunho seethes in frustration, knowing he’s missing something.

“And I thought there would be nobody since Thelmor and his betrayal, but it seems your heart is softer than I first guessed.” Heechul is smirking and his eyes are alight with interest, eyes open wide—too wide. “See when Thelmor ratted you out to the Southerner’s and sold your information, fucked you then left, I though your heart had frozen over. Time and time again you said to me you would never trust another, but your faiths already in this boy, and in a _Southerner_ no less.”

“What are you trying to say to me, Vecht?”

“Oh, _oh,_ isn’t that just fantastic?” Heechul sings, rubbing the ring on his finger. “You’ve not a clue what’s become of you see,” he pauses and stands close to Yunho, rubbing the lapels of his jacket, “the Yunho I know would’ve executed the boy on the spot. The Yunho I know would never de-collar his prey, and yes, of course I heard about that. I hear about everything that happens in this castle, it just took me seeing you to understand it.”

Yunho grits his teeth together and snarls at the Lord, baring each tooth like a weapon. Heechul only seems amused and it rages on his anger further. “Understand _what?_ ”

Heechul touches his cheek and rubs his thumb down his jawline. “You like the boy.”


End file.
